


Blinded By The Light: The Series

by shewasagaystripper



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, blindness AU, relationship: established
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-30 00:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 87,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16275194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewasagaystripper/pseuds/shewasagaystripper





	1. Prequel

_Take the entrance at the end of the lobby. Walk half through the hallway, and go to the right just around the corner. Take the flight upstairs to the third floor; once upstairs, go to the left, and immediately to the right again to enter the hallway to which the ward he was looking for was attached. Walk all along the hallway until the red folding doors that looked so out of place in the otherwise white and light greyish environment._ It was like a rhythm, a habit, a tradition; Brian didn’t even have to look at the signs that showed the route to the ward he had to be, or even think about how to get to the place anymore. He felt like he was _born_ knowing the way to ophthalmology ward.

The door fell close behind him, and Brian exchanged the hallway for a rectangular room where the front desk of the ward was positioned. The woman behind the desk looked up at the sound of his footsteps filling the otherwise silent space, and she gave him a bit of a smile. Brian raised his right hand to wave at her, and she returned the gesture. With his other hand, he dug into the back pocket of his jeans to find the plastic visitor card, even though he knew there was no need for; everyone here knew exactly who he was by now, and who he was coming to see each time he walked through those doors.

‘Hello, Brian. He’s in the same room as yesterday. I don’t suppose you’re going to need my help to find it anymore?’ the secretary asked with a bit of a smile on her face. It was a rhetorical question; Brian knew the place almost as good as the staff itself after having spent so much time on the ward.

‘No, I’ll manage. I’ve got an mental map of this ward in my head by now,’ Brian said as he tapped against his temple with his index finger. ‘Do you still need to see my…’ he said as he somewhat awkwardly reached the visitor card out towards her, but she shook her head.

‘No, I believe I know everything by heart now,’ she said as she picked up her ballpoint pen with hospital logo on the button, and turned to the notepad lying in front of her on the oval shaped wooden desk. ‘Brian Harold May, born… July nineteenth, nineteen forty-seven…’ she mumbled as she wrote everything she said down simultaneously. ‘Visitor card number 3132214, right?’

‘Exactly,’ Brian confirmed.

‘And of course coming to visit Roger Taylor, brought into the ophthalmology ward on November fifth,’ she added as she noted this information down also, before she looked up at Brian as to check if this was also correct.

‘That’s it. Thank you, Elouise,’ Brian smiled back at her. He didn’t know when the staff and him had stopped addressing each other by their last names and professions, but somewhere along the way it had become unnatural to call people you got to see multiple times a day by their formal titles.

With Elouise’s permission, Brian walked past the front desk and entered the hallway with hospital bedrooms at either side. On his way to his destination, he came across multiple doctors and nurses, all of whom he knew by name – and who also knew exactly who he was. He greeted them politely, trailed his fingers along the crisp white wall, until he eventually halted his movements in front of room 1128. He took in a deep breath – even though he knew exactly what he was going to find inside the room, he always needed a moment to prepare himself. Even though he had been here every day for almost a month by now, it never seemed to be getting any easier. Maybe because he knew that with every time he entered this sterile hospital room to find his partner in the exact same condition as the day before, he knew the chances of progress were getting slimmer and slimmer, and just the thought of this was enough to make Brian feel like someone had torn his heart out of his ribcage and watch them tear it into a million pieces right before his eyes.

 _Calm down. There is still hope. Today might finally bring the good news you’ve been waiting for to hear all this time,_ Brian said to himself in an attempt to cheer himself up. It was hard to keep faith in progress, but what else than faith did he have to keep him doing, to drag himself all the way up to the third floor of the hospital thrice a day, and most of all, to comfort his desolated partner with?

Brian closed his eyes, swallowed away the lump that had formed in his throat, and knocked on the door. Without waiting for a reply, he entered the square hospital room. Even though they assigned his boyfriend a different room multiple times a week for whatever logistic reasons, he always knew exactly what everything was going to look like; the sink and cupboards at the left side, a wardrobe- and storage closet for personal belongings of the four patients the room could hold. Right now, however, two of the hospital beds were empty; someone seemed to be occupying the bed behind the curtains that had been pulled out to probably give whoever it was some privacy, and then there was the bed of the person Brian had come to visit. But before he got to lay his eyes on his boyfriend, Brian first saw one of whose caregivers; and even though she was standing with his back turned to him, he could judge by her hair and her slim figure who it was.

‘Ah, look who’s back again!’ the girl said as she nearly swirled around, immediately having to readjust the white cap that threatened to fall off the top of her head and secure it to her curls. Brian had caught himself feeling jealous of her hair multiple times; both of them had dark brown curls, but hers were tight, thick, healthy-looking, shiny and gracefully fell all the way to her mid-back, while his was… untameable half of the time, to say the very least. ‘You’re always earlier than half of our staff. They could really take your example,’ she continued to say in full conviction.

‘Hi, Maryanne,’ Brian greeted her with a smile. Just like Elouise, the secretary who had helped him finding his way around the place and checked him in and out whenever he paid a visit to his boyfriend, he had gotten to know Maryanne very well. She was one of Roger’s nurses, and Brian could easily call the young woman one of the brightest, kindest, and most caring people he had ever met. Her optimism and cheerfulness in situations when no none of them could manage to stay positive were admirable, and Brian had no idea where they would have been without her kind words and contagious luminosity in the pit of darkness they had fallen into.

‘We’ve been waiting for you, hadn’t we, Roger?’ Maryanne said as she patted Roger on the shoulder. Roger did not react to either of them; he seemed distant and hesitant that morning, and Brian knew exactly why. He could hardly blame him – he probably would have behaved the same way if he would find himself in Roger’s situation.

‘I hope I didn’t keep you waiting for too long,’ Brian said as he walked closer up to the bed. Maryanne pulled out a chair for him, and Brian sat down on it, moving it as close to the bed as possible. He leant in to press a kiss against Roger’s cheek and noticed that he felt cold. This failed to surprise him; lying still in a hospital bed all day for almost a month would turn anyone’s body temperature into that of a snow man. Since there was practically nothing wrong with him that would physically prevent him from getting out of bed, Roger was of course allowed to go out for a walk or such –  with someone’s help to guide him, that was. But even though many nurses, family, friends, and of course Brian had offered him to accompany him on a walk, or just to help him find the way around the room, Roger so far had not been particularly excited about leaving his bed. It worried Brian; of course he understood that Roger wasn’t in the mood to undertake these kind – or any, really – activities, but he could not stay in bed forever. Especially not if this condition had come to stay, something which seemed like a plausible scenario more and more with every passing day.

 _Don’t think like that,_ he told himself. _Don’t give up the fight already. There is still hope, and you’re the only one who can transmit this to Roger. God knows he can use every splinter of hope right now._

‘Hi there, darling. How are you this morning?’ Brian asked his partner as optimistically and invitingly as possible, even though he knew he might as well have snarled them at his partner; he would not normally react to either of it with more than a nod or a shake of the head, and today so far seemed to be no exception. Brian did not know if the somewhat vague up and down movement of Roger’s head was to be interpreted as a ‘doing well despite circumstances’ or a ‘doing bad altogether,’ let alone whether or not this was better than the replies he used to get. Before Roger had landed in this current stage of mental absence and seeming indifference that he tried to conceal his desperation with, he had been going through states of anger, grief, and misunderstanding towards what was happening to him. All of these moments had been accompanied by an overdose of tears. While in these stages, Brian had wished so desperately for them to stop because he couldn’t _stand_ seeing his boyfriend cry, but now that the tears had disappeared to make place for the quietness and absence of display of emotions, Brian almost wished for the tears to return. He wished Roger would show him how he felt, instead of only getting to see the faraway look in Roger’s eyes while the drummer stared at the wall or the ceiling without probably even realising he was staring at them.

Brian repeated the question he had asked, but when understood that Roger was not going to provide him any valuable answers to his questions that morning, he instead turned to Maryanne for a more reliable source. He didn’t even have to ask the question; just looking in her direction was all the nurse needed to know that Brian had reassigned the question to her.

‘He seems to be doing alright today. He’s already had breakfast and ate most of it,’ she said while leaning in to smooth the somewhat crinkly bed sheets. It was a relief for Brian to hear this; about two weeks ago, when after some failed operations the realisation that this might be a permanent thing had started to dawn upon them, Roger had refused to eat for days in a row, to the point where they were close to starting with artificial nutrition. Even though his quietness was still worrying the guitarist, knowing Roger was past his stage of refusing to eat was giving Brian a little bit of the hope he longed for so desperately.

After this first question, of course, came the more serious one Brian constantly had on his mind. He hardly had the courage to ask it, mainly because he already knew the answer was not going to be the one they wanted to hear, but he just had to be sure of it. ‘Any progress?’ he whispered at the person standing at the other side of the bed.

Maryanne gave him a bit of a painful expression that was so unfitting for her personality. She shook her head, and Brian nodded despondently. It was not that he had expected anything different than this response; after having gone through treatment, medicines, and surgeries non-stop for almost a month by now, a sudden change in the eternal darkness Roger described was all he ever saw these days, would have been a God-sent miracle he knew he should not wait for to happen. But still, once again, hope was all he had these days – certainly now that it started to look like none of the traditional medical treatments were having any effect on his partner.

‘But he slept well last night, didn’t you, Roger?’ Maryanne changed the topic, not wanting to stick to the negative side of the situation for too long – which was so perfectly her. ‘He woke up only once. That’s certainly an improvement when compared to the last couple of nights.’

‘That’s very good,’ Brian said approvingly, running his fingers through Roger’s unkempt hair. Roger didn’t say a word, but Brian did manage to elicit a reaction from him this time; the drummer stretched out his arms as to wordlessly invite Brian to hug him. It was more than an invitation, though; it was an order. Not an unkind one, as if Roger demanded Brian do whatever he wanted with just a gesture of his hands, but because Roger really, _really_ needed to be held right now.

And of course, Brian immediately obeyed; he was more than glad that his boyfriend finally gave a sign of recognition, of appreciating that he had come over to visit him. This did fit into the grander scheme of things; no matter what his mood or state of mind was, Roger was always happy to ‘see’ Brian, even though he would sometimes display his gratitude in a more visible way than other times. It could go from either already sitting at the edge of the bed and reaching his arms towards Brian before the guitarist had even fully stepped to the door, to first not being capable of reacting to him and eventually crawling towards him in a more subtle way, as he did right now. Whichever method he used didn’t matter to Brian, as long as the result was the same in the end: that he got to hold Roger close and whisper whatever kind of comforts he still managed to come up with after having repeated most of them for over a month by now.

‘Hey, baby. How are you doing today?’ Brian mumbled. He nuzzled at Roger’s hair while his partner nestled himself against his chest and rested his head on Brian’s shoulder. He did not reply instantly, but Brian knew that if he would just keep holding him and stay patient with him, Roger would open up (or at least reply to him) eventually. Being endlessly patient while waiting for an improvement in the situation was a skill Brian liked to think he had mastered over the course of the last month.

After about a minute, it seemed like his tactic was starting to work; Roger clearing his throat announced that he was going to say something after all. ‘I don’t want to do this,’ Roger squeaked, his voice raspy from probably not having used it since the minute Brian left the hospital the night before. Brian closed his eyes; he had been anticipating – fearing, more like – this comment to come up somewhere that morning. Brian knew exactly what his boyfriend was talking around, and so did the rest of the hospital staff in the room, which now consisted of not only Maryanne but also Jill and Gracie, two student nurses who apparently had come in to check on the person behind the curtains while Brian hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings for a moment.

‘It’ll be fine,’ Brian said, smoothing his hand over Roger’s back. ‘It’s going to be over before you know it. The surgery is going to take less than half an hour, and the recovery… Well, you’re going to be here for some more time anyway,’ Brian’s voice trailed down by the time he neared the end of the sentence. It was the only positive thing he could say, for he knew that the recovery itself was always painful and exhaustive, most of all because so far they had always ended up with no result but disappointment when the bandage came off after a few days to find Roger still seeing nothing but intense darkness.

‘So that’s a reason for them to just mess around with my eyes as much as they like?’ Roger suddenly snapped, which before would have surprised Brian. Now, after having been in the hospital with the tension and fear of receiving permanent bad new building up for four weeks straight, Brian had heard quite enough cynical comments to have grown used to Roger throwing one at him at either the staff or him every now and then. Brian didn’t mind Roger taking his feelings of anger and helplessness out on him; it was the thought of him feeling so helpless that was really bothering Brian, especially because it reminded him of how useless he felt in this situation himself. He wished he could do something better to help Roger than just holding him and talking to him, even though he knew this was the most valuable thing he could do for Roger at this point.

‘They’re not messing around, baby,’ Brian comforted him. ‘They studied for this, they know what they’re doing.’

‘Obviously not, because I’m still as… as _blind_ as I was the day I came in here,’ Roger mumbled with the emphasis on the word Brian always tried to avoid whenever possible. He knew it was the truth, but somehow he had the – of course irrational – idea that if he would not use the word, Roger’s current condition would somehow not become a fact. As if he could just _choose_ not to accept Roger’s condition into their reality. As if avoiding the thing would make the thing go away.

‘But this surgery might actually make a difference!’ Brian said in an attempt to keep spirits up and to avoid having to go deeper into the disappointment all previous surgeries had left behind. Roger, on the other side, was determined to bring this up anyway.

‘You said that last time also. And the time before that. And before that!’

Brian closed his eyes; this was exactly what he had been fearing for. He knew how much Roger had been dreading the upcoming surgery, how he probably had been lying awake for hours again the previous few nights and hadn’t eaten well the previous few days, how it probably would not make a difference once again. But Brian was determined to let him go through with this. He could not stand the idea of having missed out on this opportunity while might have been the surgery that was going to redeem them from the situation they had tumbled into. No matter how slim the chances of success were after a handful of similar but unsuccessful surgeries, Brian knew the only option besides taking the surgery was going to be giving up, and he was not ready to give up on Roger’s possible recovery yet.

‘Listen, Roger,’ Brain started calmly. ‘I know getting surgery will never be amongst your favourite hobbies, nor will it be mine, or anyone’s, really. But you have to be brave and let these people do what they’re good at. They never would have insisted on a new surgery if they didn’t believe it had no possibility of succeeding.’

‘Or they’re just doing it for the compensation the NHS will give them,’ Roger thought out loud, but Brian did not appreciate this morally reprehensible incentive his partner was accusing the medical staff that had been so good to the both of them over the course of the last four weeks of.

‘You know they would never get our hopes up just for the money. They are good and honest people, Roger,’ Brian half-remined, half-chided him, and he knew without actually getting to see his face (since he was still burying it in his shirt) that Roger was starting to blush; he knew he was talking nonsense by now, probably realising he had resorted to accusing people of lies by now to prove his point. To save Roger from the awkwardness of having to admit he was wrong, Brian took the silence to redirect them to the topic that really mattered. ‘We have to go through with this, Roger. This is the only chance we have.’

Roger stayed silent. Brian knew that Roger realised just as much as he did that after all the medication, tools, tricks, and the simple passing of time to let his eyes heal had not worked out, this was indeed their last resort. With a high probability of being a useless last resort, but still, it was better than having none at all.

Therefore, Brian carefully continued talking to Roger to get him to accept the idea of the surgery that had been planned for that morning. ‘And we’ve got nothing to lose. The worst that can happen is that it… won’t make a difference,’ Brian said softly, attempting once again to keep his language as neutral as possible; if he didn’t explicitly speak of failure, maybe then it would not come around to haunt them again after the recovery from this treatment.

‘Which we’re used to by now,’ Roger muttered cynically.

‘ _Please_ , Roger,’ Brian whispered. He could no longer give Roger a stern glance to tell him not to be  this cynical, but Roger seemed to have trained himself to sense the desperation in his voice now that he could no longer use his eyes to find out how Brian felt about his behaviour.

‘I’m sorry,’ Roger apologised. ‘I’m just… _scared_ ,’ he admitted, and Brian now felt the beginning of a wet stain on his shirt at the height of his chest, which told him that Roger could no longer keep his tears to himself. He himself also had to blink hard to keep the tears from spilling from his eyes, but when he failed in the end, it hardly bothered him. He always tried to stay so strong and as unaffected as possible around Roger, but it felt good that they could now share their grief together while clinging onto each other as tightly as possible. The guitarist felt a gentle hand at his shoulder and opened his eyes to see Maryanne standing before him with a paper box of tissues. He felt guilty about almost having forgotten about her presence, but she didn’t seem to mind; she just handed him one of the sheets she had torn out of the box, and then backed away with a soft smile to let them have their moment again.

After this short interruption, Brian had to focus a second to think about what they had been talking about again, but luckily, it soon dawned upon him again before an awkward silence would have filled the room. ‘I know. I know you’re scared. And so am I,’ Brian said while wrapping his arms even tighter around Roger, if still possible. He knew they were both afraid of the exact same thing, which was the disappointment and despair they were surely going to experience if this was going to be yet another useless surgery. They had been met with nothing but disappointment after each of his previous medicines, treatments, and surgeries, and Brian could understand that Roger was extremely cautious and hesitant to trying yet more of the same thing, which was likely to result in even more disappointment.

‘I’m so afraid it won’t work again, and we’re gonna… gonna get our hopes up for nothing!’ Roger said out loud what the both of them had been thinking, making it even harder for Brian to keep his tears as quiet as he could. He had a feeling that Roger had noticed he was crying by now, but he didn’t want to completely let go and lose control over his emotions. The last thing Brian wanted was for Roger to have to worry about him right now.

With all the strength he managed to collect in his body and mind, Brian managed to rub away the tears and gain control over himself again. He carefully detached himself from Roger; not to actually let go of him, but to sit in front of him and placing both of his hands on Roger’s shoulders, in an attempt to come across as more confident and to hopefully simultaneously pass some of this confidence on to Roger.

‘Roger, look at me,’ Brian started off out of habit, but he quickly realised that this was not going to be realistic and corrected himself. ‘I mean, listen to me. I know that that’s… a possible outcome. Even though I hope so much this will finally make a change, we both know it might as well not do anything,’ Brian said with pain in his heart while he made this understatement. ‘I just want to make sure we’ve tried everything we could possibly do to help you out of this. I would never push you into anything you didn’t want to if I didn’t think it would be helpful for you. All I want is… whatever is best for you,’ Brian squeaked. Roger by now did look as much into his direction as he possibly could now that he could not exactly see where he was sitting, finally allowing Brian to see look into his eyes. They were red-rimmed from either the tears or from the many times they had to be pulled open with clips and other tools for long amounts of times during surgeries and medical examinations, and Brian knew for a fact that this upcoming operation was not going to make it look any better. The skin around his eyes was also red and irritated and had even turned to a light purplish shade of bruising at the left side, a result of the load of adhesive tape and bandage that was stuck to- and ripped off the skin around his eyes multiple times a day sometimes, for the purpose of trying to either give his eyes rest or give them an extensive check to see if they reacted to anything, such as the light of a torch or overall darkness – which, so far, they hadn’t. Then finally, there were the eyes; the irises, and pupils, and the white that surrounded these spheres. Brian would recognise his partner’s eyes out of a million pairs, even though they did not look the way they used to do. The once perfect white was at the moment pierced by numerous tiny, red veins that had been strained as a result of the tears Roger had just shed, and the medical examination Brian knew by now they pulled him through every morning before he arrived. This was however a temporary side effect; it would soon clear up when the doctors would ‘stop fussing around with them,’ as Maryanne had once put it. The effects of the accident and the treatment on the rest of Roger’s eyes was more striking, and probably also a lot more permanent. The once so deep blue eyes had turned several shades lighter to an icy kind of blue, and even the black pupils had turned to a shade of grey that from a distance seemed to approximate the new colour of the irises rather than their own original colour. This was especially the case with the left eye, to which the fireworks had come even closer than to the right eye. According to the doctors, all the beforementioned physical changes were common results of the accident and the surgeries, and were often seen in people with either sudden or congenital visual impairment. They had also told them that the colours of Roger’s irises and pupils were likely to gradually shift to what they used to look like, although they had been warned not to expect them to ever look completely the same again.

Still, whether they were wet and red-rimmed from the tears, surrounded by irritated skin and bruises from the iron medical tools and adhesive tape, discoloured by the force of the accident, or whether they were ever going to look like the eyes Brian had fallen in love with again, Brian loved these eyes just as much as he had always done, and he was going to show Roger so.

Brian tightened his hands on Roger’s shoulders and took in a deep breath. ‘I just want what’s best for you, because I love you so fucking _much_ , Roger,’ Brian told him emotionally, and Roger looked away from him to let his tears fall down. The drummer never had been comfortable staring at people when he was tearing up, and him no longer being able to actually see them did not seem to change this. ‘And you don’t deserve to be in this situation. You deserve so much better than all that’s currently happening to you. I just want this surgery for you to hopefully put an end to all of this… this…’

‘This _hell_ ,’ Roger sobbed, still facing down and avoiding the gaze which he could no longer even see.

‘To put an end to this hell for once and for all,’ Brian said, having a hard time convincing himself that this could be true, but trying anyway because he hoped his conviction might bring Roger around. ‘Please, Roger. Do it for me. Do it for yourself.’ Brian realised he was begging by now, but he didn’t care; he was desperate for Roger’s approval, and he figured that if his lover was just as desperate for recovery as Brian was for him to agree to this surgery, he would give in somewhere soon.

‘I will,’ Roger promised in a whisper after a few seconds of silence, a trail of tears running down his cheeks when he shut his eyes. Feeling relieved and filled with probably a lot more hope than he should be feeling after this small victory that guaranteed no successful operation whatsoever, Brian leant forward to kiss Roger’s closed eyelids with as much carefulness as possible; the last thing he wanted to do was hurt these tender eyelids right before they were going to have to be drawn open by the use of an eye clamp during the upcoming surgery.

‘I’m so proud of you,’ Brian said as he leant in to take Roger in his arms again. ‘And I love you no matter what, whether the surgery succeeds or fails or whatever can happen in between. Please know that I love you unconditionally,’ he assured him, rubbing his back comfortingly.

‘I love you too. Thank you for… being here with me all the time,’ Roger said with the smallest of a smile, at last looking up at Brian with those damaged but still endlessly beautiful eyes.

‘No need to thank me. I’d never leave you alone in this,’ Brian comforted him with one more kiss, this time on his cheek, and Roger leant forward to clumsily return the favour to Brian. It ended up right next to his nose, but Brian didn’t mind; just having Roger finally crawling out of the darkness he had been hiding into for four weeks by now, even though it was just for a minute, was exactly what Brian needed to see to fuel his own faith in a good ending to this story – if not to the surgery, then to Roger and him being together. Brian was positive the two of them were going to pull though as a couple, regardless of the outcome or today’s or future surgeries.

‘Mister Taylor? The retinal surgery has been planned to start in thirty minutes. I’ve come to bring in the surgical gown and cap.’

Brian partly detached himself from Roger to turn around and look at the older woman dressed in the same blue dress as the other female nurses, but the white, plastic-like apron and flu mask immediately told Brian that she had been send from the surgery room to help them preparing for the actual event. Brian gave a bit of a smile towards the disposable outfit she was holding in hands; he was sure that Roger would have made some kind of remark in the trend of ‘I’ll to look like a grandmother just stepping out of bed in those.’ But then again, Brian knew Roger was currently – and pretty possibly permanently – unable to see the items, which quickly turned the small smile into a pathetic and even quicker into a non-existent smile.

‘Thank you, Gloria,’ Maryanne stepped in, preventing Brian from having to completely let go of Roger by instead walking up to the woman Brian miraculously had never seen in his four week stay at the hospital, and took the items from her.

‘We’ll come to move the bed over to surgery room 3B? Is there anything else you need, Maryanne?’

‘We’ll be alright. Thank you,’ Maryanne declined politely, and her co-worker gave her a smile. After this, her eyes found Brian, and the unknown nurse gave him an encouraging nod – probably having been informed about Roger’s long medical background since the accident – and left the room so they could have a moment of privacy to prepare themselves for the moment Roger would be drugged down again in the hope that things were going to be alright again by the time he woke up.

‘Well, let’s get you ready. The sooner it’s going to be over, the better,’ Maryanne proposed, and Brian agreed to this plan. He gave both of Roger’s shoulders a bit of an encouraging pinch to let him know he was not alone in this sinking ship, before he stood up to collect the items the nurse had brought in and get Roger ready for what he hoped was going to be the last eye surgery ever.

# # #

Brian felt like he was starting to lose his sense of time while being in the hospital. On the one side he felt like the thirty minutes the tension and fear had been building up in the hospital room until the medical staff had come to bring Roger over to the surgery room had been the longest he had ever experienced, and on the other hand he felt like there was no way half an hour had already passed when he found himself standing next to the operating table on which Roger was lying, waiting for the anaesthetist to give him the injection that would momentarily take him away from the world so the surgeon could do their job. Just like the surgeon’s assistants, Brian was clothed in a paper-like apron that covered everything between his neck and hips, a matching flu mask, and disposable plastic gloves to finish the whole look. Everything felt weird and uncomfortable, but Brian knew he had no right to complain; visitors in the surgery- and recovery room were usually only allowed for people under the age of 21, but they had made an exception for them when they found out Roger was a lot calmer when he slept in- and woke up with Brian at his side.

This was exactly the case right now; even though Brian knew Roger was dying from nervousness on the inside (as he did with every surgery – he really never was going to get used to how unnatural and unpleasant it felt), on the outside he appeared remarkably calm. Brian knew this was because he was standing next to Roger to stroke his arm through the thin plastic gloves he was wearing; and possibly also because the patient could not see what was going on around him. Brian could see the surgeon and his assistants preparing their tools, he saw the anaesthetist filling up a syringe with a transparent fluid she was soon going to inject into Roger’s skin, he saw someone  bringing out the iron eye clamps they were going to use to keep Roger’s eyelids from falling shut during the operation… For just a moment Brian was glad Roger had lost all of his vision, just so he did not have to witness all these details that would surely make him even more nervous than just the orders and questions the medical staff was currently exchanging in soft but serious voices.

‘Brian?’ Roger whispered, probably not daring to speak out loud amidst the other handful of quiet voices, but it was just loud enough for Brian to hear him.

‘Yes, baby?’

‘Do you think this time will turn out alright?’ Roger asked, and for the first time in forever, Brian detected a sparkle of hope in his voice. It gave him the most double feeling he had ever felt; Roger feeling positive towards the chances of recovery was all he had been wishing for the last few hours, but now that he finally seemed to be getting what he wanted, it seemed to be counterproductive to his own faith. Maybe this was because the nearly childlike hope for a good ending in Roger’s voice had triggered his own insecurity towards the realistic chance of him waking up seeing anything again.

 Even though he deep inside had serious doubts about the effectiveness of this surgery – serious doubts that bordered on being almost positive it wasn’t going to do anything after five previous attempts that had all failed – which he knew were shared by Roger, Brian decided that if there ever would have been a bad moment to admit his doubts, it would have been now, right before the surgery. So Brian simply clung to the positivity he had been trying (and managing pretty well) to keep up in the run-up to this much dreaded surgery, knowing Roger needed it now more than ever.

‘I’m… hoping with all of my might that it will,’ Brian told him – it was of course sincerely meant, but it also was all he could bring himself to say right now. He had heard the chances long-term result of these retina operations, and they were slim, to put it lightly. He had read the numbers, which declined vastly with every new surgery, in a medical brochure at the front desk of the ophthalmology ward, and had decided that ignorance was bliss in this case. He did not want Roger to feel even more depressed towards his chances of recovery than he already was, if this was even still possible.  

‘Mister Taylor? I’m going to insert the anaesthetic injection into your lower right arm in a moment,’ the anaesthetist announced as she walked over to the operation table. Brian moved aside for her as much as possible to still allow himself to keep his hand on Roger’s hand, squeezing it lightly as to comfort him. Roger did not manage to squeeze him back, though, to let him know he was doing alright – most likely because he was not doing okay, the realisation of which made Brian want to break down in tears. It was so fucking _unfair_ that Roger was being pulled through all this misery, caused by whatever kind of unknown mysterious force was out there that for some reason had decided they would not be allowed to continue happily living their lives like they had been for years.

‘You’re going to feel a bit of a stinging sensation in three, two, one…’

Brian awoke from his thoughts not so much because of the soothing voice of the anaesthetist, but because of the short but piercing cry Roger gave the moment the needle disappeared into his arm. Brian could hardly look at it; he hated the idea of people sticking their syringes and scrapers and tweezers and God knew what kind of tools into his boyfriend’s body, even though he knew it was their only possibility of improvement of their currently helpless satiation.

‘Brian…’ Roger whispered desperately, and Brian had to swallow hard to get himself together. The last thing he wanted was for Roger to notice that he was distraught by the sight of him on the operation table right before he was going to sink away into the nothingness the anaesthesia was soon going to provide, so he stepped up to comfort him, forever thankful Roger could not see the tears that sparkled in his eyes at that moment.

‘I’ll be with you in the recovery room when you wake up from the surgery. Hopefully for the last time,’ Brian said lovingly, giving Roger’s hand a squeeze below the spot where the syringe had been pressed into the pale skin of his lower arm. He continued stroking Roger’s hands until he felt the fingers growing limb, at which point he let go to rub over his cheek, watching as Roger’s eyes soon after fell shut. Brian used to like to think that the anaesthesia was letting Roger sink into a comfortable pool of black that took him to a more peaceful place while the surgeons were doing their job, until he had realised that Roger was permanently surrounded by the darkness that could last forever if these surgeries were not going to have an effect on him any day soon.

It was as if the surgeon could smell that he was thinking about this worst case scenario, and decided that he’d better tell him the truth about where they were standing right now.

‘Mister May, I will have to tell you that this is indeed going to be the last time, but I am afraid not in the positive way that you seemed to be hinting at,’ the man said.

Brian turned around to look at the person speaking, but the rest of the staff did not look up; it was as if everybody apart from the ones it actually concerned had been informed. ‘The last time?’

‘We cannot operate him again after this time, if we do not want to further damage the retina, iris, and pupil,’ the surgeon explained as he pulled the plastic gloves up a bit higher up his arms. ‘This procedure might be short, but it is intense and it takes its toll on, mainly because we are scraping away from the surface of the retina, causing it to become thinner and thinner with every surgery-’

‘I understand, I understand,’ Brian quickly interrupted, feeling queasy when thinking about how these people were quite literally sticking their tweezers and excavators and God knew what other kind of surgery tools into his boyfriend’s precious blue eyes. He was torn between telling the surgeon that it didn’t matter if they would operate, say, five more times because all the beforementioned eye parts had already been damaged to the extent where they were useless apart from for aesthetic purposes, and simply agreeing with him because he knew changes of improvement were getting slimmer every time – and, even more than that, because he knew Roger simply couldn’t handle the stress and pain and recovery of these surgeries anymore after a month.

‘Does he know?’ Brian whispered; even though he knew Roger was unconscious, he still had the uncomfortable feeling his partner could hear the surgeon and him talking about him behind his back.

‘No. We felt like he was experiencing enough stress already just by having to go through this surgery already,’ the surgeon told him, looking into Brian’s eyes as to look for either his approval or disapproval. It was the former that he received.

‘Thank you,’ Brian sighed in relief, even though a voice somewhere inside his head made him feel guilty for being glad Roger didn’t know this was his last chance in terms of getting his eyesight back. Roger was an adult, a  person on his own, and no matter how badly Brian wanted to protect him from the harshness of this brave new world he had been thrown into, Roger deserved to know what was going on with himself; certainly now that this was the breaking point where they were either going to win or lose this fight. 

‘And will it… do you think this last attempt has a chance of actually succeeding?’ he asked painfully.

Silence for a few seconds before the medical professional replied. ‘We’ll try everything we can, mister May. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to… seriously prepare for the worst this time,’ the surgeon said, and Brian could see in his eyes, the only part of his face visible between the hair net and the flu mask, that this request touched the man also. Brian wondered what it would feel like for the surgeon if his sixth attempt to bring Roger’s eyes back to live also did not succeed. Would he feel guilty? Would he question his own capacities? Would he feel like a failure the same way Brian felt whenever he realised that he had failed to keep Roger safe, like he had always promised him to do?

‘Prepare for the worst,’ Brian repeated leisurely while nodding to no one in particular. Of course he had known he had to do this for ages by now, but to actually hear it from the man who was going to be their last hope, was more of an emotional shock than Brian could have imagined. He didn’t get much time to let it sink in, though; the surgeon and his staff seemed eager to get to work, probably wanting to get the business over with as soon as possible to prevent having to linger into this unpleasant case any longer than necessary.

‘Well, I think we’d better go to work, then, to not keep you in distress for any longer than necessary,’ the surgeon said with a kind smile towards Brian, genuinely seeming to want to help him out of his distress. ‘Nurse Gilbert, could you show mister May the way to the recovery room?’

Nurse Gilbert, who Brian knew by the name of Emmeline, stepped forwards to take him away, but Brian politely declined the offer.

‘Thank you, but I’ll find my way on my own,’ Brian said with a nod to both the surgeon and the nurse. The truth was not only that he indeed knew the way to the room by heart by now, but even more so that he didn’t want to go to the recovery room already; he didn’t want to be sitting on one of those wooden stools, next to an empty bed, watching how other people awoke from their narcosis while he was still waiting for Roger to arrive. He couldn’t stand seeing other patients wake up amidst their families, all relieved that the operation had been successful and that they were now redeemed from whatever medical burden they had been suffering from, while a voice deep inside of him already told him that Roger’s operation was once again most likely to be doomed to be just another statistic.

Brian gave Roger’s cheek one more stroke before he backed away from the bed; he had to go now, or otherwise he was going to cling to the iron bedframe and refuse to let go of his partner, who he currently felt like protecting even more than ever before. He tore his eyes away from his unconscious boyfriend and opened the folding doors that lead to the recovery room, only to quickly make his way through it without even looking to see which bed Roger had been assigned to once he woke up again. Instead, he rushed right past the beds and their patients and nurses, towards the small and luckily deserted waiting room in front of the recovery room, tearing off his itchy plastic gloves and the flu mask that made him feel like he was going to hyperventilate – even though this feeling also could have been caused by his nervousness and feeling of being trapped into a cage he could not escape from.

 _Prepare for the worst. I’m afraid I’ve been starting to prepare myself for the worst since the moment those fireworks went off,_ Brian dimly thought to himself as he paced through the room, feeling his heart sink in with every step he took that brought him further away from the only person in the world he wanted – needed – to be with right now.

# # #

Brian had not been aware of just how much he had been in need of peace and quiet until he introduced himself to the emptiness of the waiting room. There was not a single soul around; no nurses endlessly running around between the rooms, no doctors checking on Roger’s eyes with mirrors and torches and tweezers, no surgeons drugging Roger down and sticking their tools into vision organs… Even though Brian appreciated the care everyone was so kindly offering them, it was this quietness that he really had longed for even more than everyone’s help and sympathy. Just a moment to sit down, think about the situation on his own, instead of getting the invoice of everyone around him all the time.

But Lord, now that Brian really got the opportunity to think about it, the situation seemed to look even worse than it had seemed before today. This was undoubtedly due to the fact that he had just been told that today’s surgery was going to be the last chance to save whatever was left of Roger’s eye sight – if there was anything left of it at all. Brian had no idea how to deal with this information; of course he had been toying around with the thought that the treatment, which so far had been useless, was not going to continue forever. Somewhere it even surprised him that he hospital staff had made so many attempts to bring Roger’s eyes back alive, because if the guitarist had to be completely honest, he had already given been afraid recovery was not going to be likely after the first two failed operations. Still, he had always clung onto his hope, whether this had been realistic or not; he had always hoped and begged and even prayed for the revival of his boyfriend’s eyesight. Maybe this ever-lasting hope was the reason why the statement that this was going to be the last surgery, was hitting Brian as hard as it currently did. Of _course_ he knew chances of Roger ever getting better were nihil if today’s – the sixth, if he recounted correctly – retinal surgery would again prove to be unsuccessful. But this didn’t mean that hearing they had officially run out of options – and with that, out of hope – was any easier for Brian to accept than if he hadn’t kept the idea of all of this pretty possibly going to result in no improvement at all in the back of his mind. He felt just as heartbroken, just as depressed, and just as helpless as he would have been if he had not kept a close look on the realistic statistics. He tried to remind himself that the fight was not yet over and that the last surgery might make a change, but he knew the odds were against them. The odds had been against them all the Godforsaken time, and Brian did not have ant faith in them finally being on their side during this last and possibly most important surgery.

‘Need a tissue?’

Brian turned around at the sound of a low but kind voice; it was Jack, one of the few male nurses on the ward, but also one of the most valuable around. After having seen him function perfectly fine in some of the most stressful situations Brian had seen during his many hospital visits, mainly in the first few days when Roger had still been at the intensive care, he was sure this man could walk through a fire barefoot, without even feeling the flames licking at the soles of his feet.

Bringing his mind back to the topic of the tissue, Brian suddenly realised that he hadn’t even noticed himself that he had been crying. He brought his fingers up to his eyes and felt that some tears had been making their way down his cheeks during his moment of reflection, and he figured that tissues might indeed come in handy.

‘You’re right,’ Brian sniffed. ‘But I think I’ve still got some in my pocket,’ he said as he reached down for the back pockets of his jeans, only to dig out an empty plastic envelope that once had held a dozen of tissues. He remembered having stuffed a new pack of tissues into his pockets just two days ago, and had not expected them to be empty already. However, now that he was thinking about it, it failed to surprise him; the things he saw, heard, and thought about on an average day with Roger lying here in the hospital waiting for his eyesight to return, were awful enough to make him go through numerous tissues a day, not to even mention how frequently he used the tissue box he had placed next to his bed at home for all those lonely nights he couldn’t sleep, knowing Roger was in this Godawful place all on his own.

At the sight of the empty piece of plastic, Jack reached into the pocket of his white uniform trousers and pulled out a likewise plastic envelope, this time still half filled with paper tissues. ‘Here you go. I’m prepared for these kind of situations,’ he said and handed Brian the two tissues he had accidentally pulled out at once. Brian accepted the tissues and used one to roughly wipe the remaining tears off his cheek and blow his nose as discreetly as possible – as far as being discreet in that was possible at all. He noticed that more tears were starting to fill the corners of his eyes, but he tried to oppress them, wanting to stay strong for the sake of Roger. He was not going to break down in tears as long as there was still a splinter of hope, he told himself as he blinked against the tears.

‘You probably come across a lot of emotional people in here,’ Brian remarked in an attempt to distract himself by the time he’d cleaned himself up again a bit, and Jack gave a bit of a smile before he sat down next to Brian on the hard wooden bench, the perfect whiteness of his teeth forming a beautiful contrast with his dark brown skin.

‘Yes, but never quite like you,’ Jack said, but soon after shook his head when he realised that this was not the right way of putting into words what he meant to say. ‘Sorry, that sounded unkind. What I meant to say is that it’s not often that I see someone who is as emotionally attached and as committed to a patient as you are. You come over to visit whenever allowed, you sit next to Roger for hours, you talk to him, hold him, read to him, do whatever you can do to make him feel better... You’re practically living here by now,’ Jack snickered, and Brian joined him, relieved to find that the tears were starting to eb away.

‘Maybe I can take one of the beds in Roger’s current room. Two of them are still unoccupied.’

‘I would’ve let you if it was allowed,’ Jack chuckled, but then coughed and spoke to Brian in a more serious voice. ‘Listen, Brian. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re trying all you can not to burst into tears right here right now – and don’t tell me you aren’t, I’ve been on this ward for nearly five years now, I can tell when people are having a hard time,’ the nurse continued when Brian looked like he wanted to protest. ‘But you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. The way you take care of Roger and do everything for him, even if that means having to neglect your own wellbeing… that takes a lot of strength. You’re managing to keep your head up more than you’re giving yourself credit for,’ Jack told him.

‘That’s all thanks to Elouise and Maryanne and you and the rest of the staff. I never could have managed to keep my head up without all of your support,’ Brian mumbled.

‘Brian, we’re only here for the physical support. We’re the ones giving him treatment, medicines, surgery, food… _tissues_ …’ Jack said with a nod towards the piece of paper he had just given Brian, who smiled a bit. ‘But it’s you who gets him through this emotionally. As much as he likes and trusts Maryanne, you’re the only one who can really get through to him. You’re the one who can comfort him and make him feel as safe as he possibly can in this whole new situation, can’t you see?’

Brian nodded a bit distantly; Jack was probably right, but the ‘whole new situation’, as the nurse just called the disastrous accident and its consequences, was what his mind really was being drawn to. Maybe he might have been able to make Roger feel safe now, but most of the comfort Brian gave to his boyfriend referred in some way to the possibility of healing. What was he supposed to say if all of the medical efforts would prove to have been useless, as it was starting to look like at the moment – and, in all honesty, had looked like right from the start?

‘But how do I comfort him if he is going to be… blind forever?’ Brian whispered. ‘If this surgery also fails, and I can’t tell him there is still hope everything is going to be alright, because there simply is no chance of everything going to be alright ever again?’

‘There is no such thing as no chance of healing ever again. Medical miracles happen every day, whether scientists and surgeons like it or not,’ Jack reminded Brian, who however did not seem to be comforted with this thought.

‘But do you think that might actually happen to him? After five or maybe even six failed surgeries after today?’ Brian asked sceptically; no matter how badly he wanted to believe Jack, he was simply losing hope with every passing minute now that he was sitting here thinking about the consequences if today’s operation failed.

Jack was silent for a longer time than Brian was used to; so far the nurse had always come up with something to say to either Roger or him, but now he seemed to have run out of answers. And when he finally did come up with a reply, it was not a very satisfactory one to Brian.

‘I don’t know, Brian. I wish I did, but… I have no answer to this question,’ Jack said. ‘But as to your previous question, as to what to say to him to comfort him if it all doesn’t work out… which we don’t hope, of course, but I don’t think I’ll have to tell you that it is a likely scenario,’ he said softly, and Brian nodded, bringing the tissue up to his eyes again. ‘Tell him you still love him. Tell him you won’t leave him, that you will stay with him and take care of him and be there for him. Because that’s the truth, right? You still love him and you will stay with him, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will. And of course I still love him. I love him even more now than before the accident. Because I’ve seen how… fragile human life and health are, and how much it should be cherished while it can be,’ Brian said in an increasingly breakable voice, staring down at his lap and plucking at the paper tissue with shaky fingers to avoid having to look up at the man sitting next to him.

‘Those are very true words, and I’m sorry to see that a good person like you had to learn them this way,’ Jack sighed, leaning back on the wooden bench. They were silent for a moment, but it was not a heavy silence, as one might have expected after such an emotionally intense conversation; it actually gave Brian some peace of mind and some time to think about Jack’s words, mainly those about what he was going to do if the last traces of hope of recovery were going to be shattered into a million pieces today. Because Jack had been absolutely right; even if  Roger’s vision was not going to come back, Brian would still love him, cherish him, stay with him, and take care of him like he had done the entire time of Roger’s hospital stay. Of course things were going to be different if he was to take a legally blind Roger home with him, but Brian was positive that things between Roger and him were not going to be different. Their love for each other was not going to change in any way – apart from that it was going to grow even stronger than it had been before, if it was up to Brian.

Brian had sunken away in his thoughts so deeply that he didn’t even notice the door opening and the sound of a woman’s heels ticking on the floor on her way to the bench Jack and he were sitting on.

‘Brian? Oh, here you are, I had been looking for you!’

Before he had even opened his eyes, Brian already recognised the voice to be Maryanne’s, and he tried his best to appear awake as best as he could. The nurse hardly seemed to notice that both Brian and her co-worker had been on the edge of disappearing into their own mind; she just cheerfully continued talking.

‘You weren’t in the recovery room or in Roger’s hospital room, but I forgot to check in here, which is so typically me... Anyway, the surgery has been completed and Roger is in the recovery room,’ she told the two men, who shared a look between the two of them. Brian hadn’t thought that half an hour had already passed, but then again, as he had established earlier, he had no notion of time anymore whatsoever after having spent a month in- and around this hospital.

‘Is he awake?’ Brian asked hastily, feeling his heart skip a beat at just the thought of having missed the moment Roger would wake up from the daze his anaesthesia left behind, which was always one of the moments Roger needed him most; to hold his hand, to whisper soft words to him, to tell him what was happening to him. To help him make sense out of the pit of darkness he would find himself in with no memory of anything that had happened to him after each surgery. Brian never would have forgiven himself if he had missed out on this moment, but luckily Maryanne assured him he hadn’t.

‘Not yet, but it isn’t going to be long now, so I think it’s about time we move you over there. And Jack, I believe I heard doctor Anderson shouting your name across the ward a few times, so I think you’d better…’

‘Anderson? Oh, God,’ Jack said, covering his face in his hands. Brian did not know the man by more than just his last name, given that Litchfield was Roger’s doctor, but Jack’s reaction to the mentioning of Anderson’s name sounded not so good, to put it lightly.

‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Had it been Litchfield or Howards it would not have mattered, but Anderson… Good luck,’ she said with a painful smile, genuinely feeling sorry for her co-worker.

‘I’m going to have to go now, in that case,’ Jack said as he stood up from the wooden bench and smoothed the crinkles out of his white uniform trousers. ‘Brian, best of luck with everything ahead of you. You’re stronger than you think, remember that.’

Brian wanted to smile at Jack, thank him for the tissues, for having stayed with him, for his kind words, but he could not get his body to cooperate with any of these intentions. It was as if the idea of getting to see Roger after the last and all-important surgery was too much for him to focus on anything else than not collapsing under the stress of it right now, and Brian could do nothing but stare at the wall across from him.

Luckily, it was Maryanne who helped Brian stand up and who thanked Jack for staying with him on the guitarist’s behalf, before she kindly yet insistently sent the nurse off to his supervisor, obviously not wanting for Jack to get into even more troubles due to his tardiness. Brian saw how Jack quickly paced to the door that lead to the general hallway of the surgery ward, and he wished he could follow him, away from the stress and pain and tears of the recovery room. But he knew Roger was in there and that he needed Brian to be there for him, which was a thought that would never make Brian fail to get up and go where he was expected, needed, and most of all, at peace – next to Roger. So he stood up, walked to the door leading to the recovery room together with Maryanne, and took in a deep breath before he opened the heavy swing door, terrified to find out in what state he was going to find his boyfriend behind those walls.

# # #

The hospital room Roger was staying in had seemed spacious, certainly when there were only two out of the four beds occupied, but Brian found the space nearly getting stuffy once everyone required was inside of its four walls. Brian looked around the crowd of people; Maryanne was standing at the opposite side of the bed, together with her co-worker Esther, and behind them were Jill and Gracie, two student nurses who were going to note all the details of today’s check-up down. An optometrist had been called in to check on Roger’s eyes, and the surgeon and two of his assistants had come over to see the results of their work. Jack had dropped by for moral support for Brian, Roger, and Maryanne, something Brian appreciated  greatly. Finally there was doctor Littlefield, who was going to lead and direct the whole medical research. They all had gathered around for the reveal of the results of Roger’s most recent retinal surgery, which was also going to be the last – something everyone knew apart from the patient himself. Brian had not had a chance to tell him, nor had he found the courage to do so if he would have found the right moment to have done so. He was desperately hoping today was going to make the change they all had been waiting for, even though deep down in his heart, he knew it was probably better to start thinking about how to bring Roger the news that they were out of options.

The problem with this was, apart from that Brian was sure he would break both Roger’s and his own heart, that he could not focus on rhetoric and how to bring the bad news that he was most likely going to have to tell his partner. Amidst this sea of people and their tools, their medical talks, their scribbling into notepads and flicking through the pages of optometry manuals, Brian could not focus on delivering a bad news speech. All he could focus on was on Roger as he appeared to him right now, sitting upright in the hospital bed, his skin pale, his hair messy, his eyes hidden under a layer of bandage that had been used after every surgery so far, a syringe with whatever kind of fluid lodging in the skin of the back of his hand – the hand which he used to desperately cling onto Brian. Brian not only let him, but he also used his free hand to carefully stroke Roger’s lower arm right above the place where the injection had been taped to the skin; he knew how nervous all these people standing around made Roger feel, not to even mention how much having to wait for the bandage to be taken off and see if the surgery had made a difference was breaking him up.

‘You’re doing so well, Roger,’ Brian whispered, sensing that his boyfriend needed some comfort. ‘It’ll only be ten minutes before all these people will be away again.’

‘But not you, right?’ Roger whispered, his voice almost drowning in the noise of the medical staff.

‘Of course not. I’ll stay right here, whatever the outcome of the surgery ends up being,’ Brian promised. He was going to say something more to comfort Roger, but one of the people in the room noisily cleared his throat as to wordlessly ask everyone to be quiet and listen to him.

‘People, it’s officially been eight hours after today’s retinal surgery on both of the eyes of patient Roger Taylor. We will work according to our code; first we will remove the bandage, clean the area around the eyes, and wait to see if anything clears up for the patient. If the result is positive, we will use objects and a questionnaire to determine the strength of the returned eyesight, and after this – or if the results are negative – we will check and note down the technical details concerning the colour of the irises, the reaction of the pupils to darkness and light, and the like. Does everybody know what to do and where to step in?’

Brian had heard a similar version of doctor Littlefield’s speech five times before, not to even mention how often he had seen daily check-ups on Roger’s eyes. Still, after all these times, it never failed to make him nervous to hear about the procedure that was going to reveal to them what the effects of the latest surgery were – or, more likely, which was going to reveal to them that the latest surgery once again had not had any effects whatsoever.

‘Maryanne and Esther, could you remove the bandage and the adhesive tape?’

Brian watched as the two girls, both in their mid-twenties, took a step forwards to execute this first order from their supervisor. Maryanne placed her hand between the back of Roger’s head and the pillow and carefully helped to level him up. Esther in the meantime carefully unhooked the safety pins that held the strip of white cotton together at the back of Roger’s head, and then continued to unwind the layers of bandage from their place around Roger’s head and eyes. When all of these had been taken away to reveal the eye plasters that covered both Roger’s eye boxes completely, the two nurses moved on to pluck them off Roger’s skin as carefully as possible. But no matter how cautious they were, they remained adhesive tape, and Brian could see by the way Roger bit down his lower lip and the way the breath hitched in his throat after every painful tug at the plasters. It hurt Brian to see Roger in pain, mainly now that he knew it was necessary to let him go through this, and all he could do was watch and hold his hand.

Once all the layers covering Roger’s eyes had been removed, Roger was hardly given a second to open them and look if any results of the surgery were visible already; doctor Littlefield immediately called for the same two nurses to clean his eyes and the skin around it. Jill and Gracie handed over the required items – the wipes, medical alcohol, and the like – and handed them over to Maryanne and Esther. Brian bit down his lip; he knew this was always a painful moment for Roger, which did not surprise him when he looked at the tools the nurses had been given to disinfect the skin. He stroked Roger’s hand when Maryanne paced both her hands on Roger’s shoulder as to gently pin Roger down on the bed to make sure he would not move around too much. Brian always wondered why this would be necessary during this step of the process, but the moment the piece of cotton wool drenched in medical alcohol or whatever kind of cleaning substance Ethel was using came in touch with the skin just below Roger’s eye, Brian suddenly remembered at once; his partner emitted something closest to a yelp, yanked his head to the left side – as far away from the cleansing tool as possible – and overall tried to shift away from the procedure the medical staff was carrying out on him at the moment.

‘Brian! Brian, it hurts!’ Roger call out for help was more of a squeak than that it was his normal voice, and the sound of it nearly froze Brian’s whole body. He had seen and heard it all before, but he was positive he would never know how to respond to it. And for God’s sake, who _would_ know how to calmly and logically react to one’s boyfriend crying out in pain without making him panic even more?

‘Shh… It’s going to be over soon, I promise.’

It was Maryanne who comforted Roger, and Brian was glad she did; all he could do himself was look at his boyfriend with empty eyes filled with tears that blurred his eyesight. He whispered some indistinguishable comforts in Roger’s direction, but he was rather sure his boyfriend could not hear him; he couldn’t even hear them himself over the sound of Roger’s cries for help that by now had morphed into sobbing. Brian wished he could do something, such as tearing Ethel and all of her disinfectant substances away from Roger, but he couldn’t do it – not only for the reason that he was too shaky and frozen to even stand up right now, but also because no matter how much he hated the sight and idea of Roger being hurt, he knew this was necessary if they wanted to make most of his last chance of recovery.

 _It’s all for a good cause,_ he tried to tell himself. _It’s all meant to restore his vision. It’s just the necessary evil that’s going to help him see again._

_If we’re very, very lucky._

‘We’re done with the cotton pad, Roger,’ Maryanne brought Brian’s attention back the present. ‘All we’ve got to do now is-‘

‘No, please, don’t- don’t touch me anymore!’ Roger interrupted her tearfully.

‘-is use a swab to clean the eyelids, and then we’ll see how your eyesight is doing, agreed?’

From Roger’s reaction, Brian took it that he most certainly did not agree. Unfortunately for the drummer, the question had been a formality, and Maryanne gave Ethel a nod to confirm that she could pull through the task she had been assigned. Brian watched as her slender fingers closed around a cotton-tipped swab and carefully rubbed it over the eyelids Roger tried to keep close as firm as possible. This seemed to work out for him at first, but soon enough Ethel had to open his eyelids and clear the inside of them, which was a painful action after a surgery and eight hours of keeping his eyes shut. She managed, however, to shortly pull Roger’s eyelids apart and clean the area as well as she could while Roger tried everything to pull away. When Maryanne announced they were done and the nurses laid their tools aside, Brian had to look away from the cotton wool pieces and swabs, the first of which stained with dried blood and the second of which with a much more fresh looking version of the substance. He was relieved when Gracie took the used cotton tools away to bring them over to the trash bin next to the entrance of the room, but the realisation that the whole process of removing the bandage and cleaning the skin had been taken care of, made Brian feel more than just a tinge of uneasiness. The feeling Brian felt was probably better to be described as an ocean of nervousness washing over his body, because this was the moment of truth. This was when they were going to find out if the surgery had been successful, or if all the tears, pain, fear, and stress had been in vain like they had been what felt like a million times before to Brian.

As if doctor Littlefield had been able to read his mind, the man stepped forward and looked at Brian while he gave new directions to the crowd that had gathered around in the hospital room.

‘As you all know, this is the moment we have been waiting for. We will now ask the patient to open his eyes and tell us if there is anything he can see. Jill, lights please?’

The student nurse walked to the door and shut off all – save one – of the lights that previously had given the hospital room the bright, overhead LED-glow that on some days managed to tire Brian’s eyes by just how intense the glow it emitted was. Today was one of those days, although Brian was not completely sure if it was the lightning, his tiredness, or the that was currently make his eyes feel heavy and made them burn every time he blinked. What he did know, though, was that he was glad the sea of lightning was reduced to a single lamp at the moment; and not so much for himself, but more for Roger. Roger was the whole reason they were doing it for – doctor Littlefield had told Brian during the first check, after the first surgery, that the lightning would be too bright for Roger to suddenly adjust to if he was to suddenly see again if the surgery had been successful. They had continued to switch off most of the lights whenever they were doing one of these post-surgical check-up on Roger’s eyes, but by now it felt to Brian that this was more out of protocol or tradition than out of serious practical considerations. Everyone inside the room knew that the chances of Roger opening his eyes and becoming temporarily overwhelmed with the sudden sea of overhead LED-light were just as big as the chances of the stars falling from the sky above them.

‘Lights are ready, doctor.’

‘Mister Taylor, would you please open your eyes and tell us what you see?’

Brian moved his chair as close to the hospital bed as he could, to be as close to his partner as he possibly could be in this moment he knew was even more nerve-wracking to Roger than to him, and squeezed his hand between his own fingers even tighter than he had done before. In the semi-darkness that surrounded all of the dozen of suddenly awfully quiet people in the room, Brian could see Roger struggle to open his eyes in a way that caused the least intensive pain achievable after today’s surgery. There was somewhat of a furrow forming between his eyebrows when he carefully tried to open first the right- and then the left eye, but he closed both soon again; Brian doubted if his eyelids had ever stopped touching each other somewhere along the action. He saw Roger swallowing painfully and then try again after a few seconds, opening his eyes for a fraction of a second longer than the time before. Brian squeezed Roger’s hand comfortingly, and he noticed that Maryanne still had her hands on Roger’s shoulders; this time not to press him down on the mattress, but more as a sign of emotional support, which everyone in the room seemed to be wanting to give to the drummer in some way or the other at this point. Brian heard multiple people haring words of comfort and even felt someone patting him on the back – assumably Jack – but he could not get himself to turn around and smile at whoever it was. All he could do was stare at Roger while the boy was visibly fighting to keep his eyes open for a longer period than half a second of fluttering with his undoubtedly painful eyelids. It took about a minute of struggling before Roger could really fully open his eyes for a time span of a few second, which earned him some positive comments from the medical staff around him, telling him this was a good sign. Brian however was not comforted at all – not the moment he noticed the red stain of blood of which he could not tell whether it was just floating around on Roger’s retina. After having seen some changes in the colour and size of multiple components of Roger’s eyes before, it would hardly surprise Brian if this red stain had come to stay. 

Still, it was of course a relief to Brian to see the red spot vanishing when Roger blinked a number of times in a row; not only because he could now say with a vast amount of certainty that this last surgery had not damaged the appearance of Roger’s eyes any more than the previous ones had done, but also because this meant Roger seemed to have managed to get behind the pain and open and close his eyes whenever he chose to do so.

‘Everything looks good, baby,’ Brian whispered and brought Roger’s hand up to his mouth so he could press a kiss on it to show him how relieved and happy he was for this tiny Brian however got only a split second to celebrate this victory, because his temporarily happiness was crushed into a million little pieces with just a few words of his lover only a second after.

‘But I don’t… _see_ _anything_ ,’ Roger squeaked, and Brian felt everyone in the room halt their movements the moment. Brian himself, on the other hand, did not just halt his movements; it was as if his breath stocked in his throat, his nerves broke down on him, his blood stopped flowing through his veins, his heart stopped beating now that it had nothing to pump around his completely dysfunctional blood vessel system. It was as if his whole body decided to give up on him all at once over the course of the split second it took to realise what those words meant. As far as he really could comprehend just the extent of these words with the clouded mind that was the – the realisation that this mean blindness, permanent and all-surrounding and everlasting blindness, would only sink in later.

‘Nothing? You mean… nothing at all?’ Brian asked for clarification, as if he needed any of that; of course, he knew damn well what Roger meant by this. Roger meant that he couldn’t _see_ anything, nothing other than the blinding darkness that had been following him around for four whole weeks by now, and that this latest – and at the same time last _ever_ – surgery – had not helped to clear up the black spot before his eyes even one bit. He meant that this condition that they had hoped might be curable one way or another had come to stay. And, without him even knowing, Roger saying that he could not see a single thing also meant that this was the end of their journey, their quest to search for whatever might be left of his eyesight somewhere deep inside those eyes that once had been so blue and lively, but which had turned into empty pits of grey after that damned accident. It was as if the firework had literally extinguished all the light and life out of Roger’s eyes, and with only five words, Roger had confirmed Brian’s deepest fear – that there was no opportunity left to bring the life back to them again.

‘Maybe… Maybe some more light?’ Brian asked shakily. ‘Jill? Gracie? Maryanne?’ he called out in an attempt to remember the first names that came to his mind. Of course it did not matter to him who was going to do it, just as long as it happened. He was not ready to give up yet, even though he knew deep down inside, to the core of his entire being, that he was fighting a losing battle – not to say, a battle they never could have won. There was nothing they could have done. They never realistically could have won in a battle between the powerful, destructive force of fire, against the eyes, the most sensitive organ in the human body. Right now, it felt to Brian like all they had gone through in the form of medical treatment over the last month had been a stay of execution, because it would have been inhumane to let Roger leave the hospital the day after the accident without giving him any perspective, any chances of recovery, any _hope_. Hope was all they had been clinging onto the last month, and even though it had already shrunk to a minimum amount of what it once had been, Brian was not ready to let go of the last scrap of hope yet.

Brian noticed the lights being turned on, one by one, to the point where he felt like he was being drowned in a sea of light like he had been before, but it did not seem to make any of a change to Roger. He did not react to any of the changes, and Brian knew it was because he most positively did not even notice they were currently happening around him. Brian was sure that if Roger had seen even as little as the black changing to dark grey, he would have jumped out of bed from pure joy after having been unable to see nothing else but pure darkness for four weeks.

‘Is there any change, Roger, in the amount of light you’re detecting?’ doctor Littlefield asked the somewhat redundant question, but Roger just slowly shook his head, tears racing from his eyes down to the side of his face, and the man exchanged a meaningful glance of hopelessness with the surgeon. ‘Maybe… Complete switch on and off of the light, Gracie?’ he asked, and Gracie obliged; everyone hung on to see if this would finally give them the reaction they were all waiting for, but multiple rounds of switching the lights off and on again elicited no reaction from Roger other than more tears that started to flow from his eyes.

‘Nothing, just… just nothing,’ Roger sobbed, tearing the hand Brian had been holding up to that point away to roughly wipe his lower arm across his face. Now that he had both hands available again, Brian used them to cover his face with, something he had been wanting to do since the moment Roger had revealed that the surgery had not done a single thing to help him see again. He felt the tears welling up behind his own eyes, and tried to cover them with his hands as much as possible to make sure Roger wouldn’t see them – until he realised that there was no way Roger was going to see his tears, now or ever again.

Once this came up in his mind, Brian simply could not care to hide his tears any longer, not to Roger or to anyone else standing around in the room. He could not even bother to care or even think about the multitude of medical staff that had gathered around to watch today’s results; all he could see was Roger when he stood up quickly enough to make the chair he previously had been sitting on clatter to the floor beneath him. It caused a bit of a start around him, but Brian hardly noticed any of it; he simply dived down to take Roger into his arms, something he had been longing to do since the moment this whole medical check-up had started.

Brian threw his arms around Roger’s torso and nestled his head against Roger’s shoulder; his boyfriend, in the meantime, immediately took the opportunity to cling his arms around the back of Brian’s neck and press him down to his upper body as close as he could gather the strength for with his shaky limbs.

‘There is… nothing, Brian. Just black a-and… more black wherever I look,’ Roger sobbed, and Brian nodded his head against Roger’s shoulder as to tell him he understood what he was talking about. Of course he did know what Roger meant, but it was so hard to fully realise, let alone come to peace with the idea and the consequences of the black endlessness having won the fight. Brian knew they were out of options, and he had no idea what to do now; how should he tell Roger? How should they tell the rest of the people around them that the chances of recovery had officially run out? How were they going to live from now off, and to what extent would Roger be able to pick up his life the way he had been leading it before the accident? And what about the band, would he ever be able to play again at all?

There were so many questions running through Brian’s mind, but he knew that it was not the right time to utter any of them out loud right now; not now that Roger had to recover from the shock – as much as you could still call it a ‘shock’ after five previously failed attempts – of disappointment the surgery had left them in.

‘It’s all going to be alright,’ Brian whispered to his partner with as much conviction as he possibly could gather from his numb heart at the moment. Of course they would manage, they always had and always would, but he simply had no idea how to yet. Even though Roger’s blindness had started to take over their everyday life about a month ago and they both had taken into account that it was likely to become a permanent condition, the idea that there really was no way out of this situation was brand new to them. And of _course_ Brian had thought about how they were going to cope if this blindness had indeed come to haunt their lives for evermore, but never too deeply; he had never really allowed himself to think of plans and schemes for what to do after the medical treatment if it all came down to nothing, because his conscience had always made him feel guilty if he had. As if he had lost his faith in recovery even though there was still hope everything would be alright, no matter how small this chance was. Now, however, he felt bad for not; if he had given it more time and thought, he might have come up with better answers and ways to console his desolated partner.

‘No, it’s not,’ Roger whimpered. ‘I’m still blind a-after surgery number six, it’s not alright!’

‘I know,’ Brian whispered, cursing himself for having run out of other things to say than these two meaningless words. ‘I know, I know, but it’s… there might still be hope,’ Brian said, even though he knew he shouldn’t; he should not give Roger hope while he knew that within now and probably an hour, he was going to have to shatter whatever remained of his boyfriend’s heart by telling him he was virtually out of chances of ever getting his vision back again. But Lord, what else could he give Roger apart from hope right now?

 _Love_. It was as if the word suddenly exploded in his mind, as if the four letters were projected in boldface before his eyes. As Jack had told him earlier that day, what Roger needed most was love, the knowledge that he was still loved by his partner as much as he used to be before the tragical event, the thought that he would never be left alone by the person. Love was a promise Brian knew he could easily give Roger, because he truly intended to never let go of the person he had grown to adore even more than he used to in their month of time here in the hospital.

‘I love you, Roger, no matter what happens. I love you and I’ll never leave you alone in this,’ Brian whispered to his boyfriend. He let go of his torso to cup Roger’s face between his hands, and leant in to press a kiss against Roger’s cheek. Roger continued to cling his arms around the back of Brian’s neck while he silently cried after this promise, and given that Brian also did not intend to move, they stayed in this position for what the guitarist hoped would be eternity; because truly, all Brian wanted to do now and for the rest of time was to hold Roger, to hold him close to wordlessly show him how much he loved him. It also seemed like the people around them allowed them to have a moment for themselves; everyone was quiet, everyone took a step aside for them, and simply let them be. Everyone, apart from one person, and this one person was Jack, who put a hand on Brian’s shoulder to let him know he’d done the right thing by telling Roger that he loved him and that he was going to stay with him. This was a sign Brian appreciated even more than the space all the others gave them.

When the silence was eventually no longer interrupting by the occasional sound of Roger’s sobbing, it was doctor Littlefield who stepped up to break the quietness.

‘There is… One more thing we have to do now, which is an optometric test. To see if the retina might have recovered to any extent,’ doctor Littlefield proposed as if to join in on Brian’s attempt to keep up the spirits that had just been crashed down to an all-time low. ‘Doctor Dawson?’

Brian heard the footsteps of the man approaching, and with one more kiss against Roger’s cheek and a few more comforting words of love in his ear, he reluctantly released his grip around his torso and sat back on the chair someone had picked off the ground somewhere in the meantime. He naturally did hold on to Roger’s hand; he had just promised not to let go of Roger and not to leave him alone, and he was determined to stay true to his word. He squeezed Roger’s hand while the optometrist stepped in with a small flashlight to see if the pupils would react, change in size, or follow the direction of the light after today’s surgery, something which could indicate improvement, but he could not even bring it up to be disappointed when he found out that nothing happened – he had seen this kind of post-surgical check-up leading nowhere too many times by now.

After this, Brian waited patiently for the optometrist to measure the size of the pupils, for the two student nurses to use a chart filled with small dots of all possible eye colours appearing in the human race to determine that Roger’s eye colour had gone from that they called ‘Blue A38’  to ‘Grey D12’,  but over the course of the last four weeks had slowly crawled up to ‘Grey D17’, which apparently meant the eye colour was starting to approach the colour it used to be. Brian could hardly see the difference between what colour Roger’s irises had been the day they came into the hospital and this exact moment, but it didn’t matter to him either; blue or grey, functional or blind, Brian was positive that Roger’s eyes would always be the most beautiful he’d ever see.

Once all the information had carefully been written down and the medical staff was starting to pack up their books and tools again to make place for Brian to embrace and comfort his partner again, Brian was unsure how he should feel; on one side he really felt the desire to be alone with Roger right now, without a whole crowd of people squeezing themselves around the pair of them to catch a glimpse of what was going on or carrying or noting down details Brian did not want to know. But on the other hand, he knew that being alone with Roger was going to mean that he would have to tell; they were most likely to be dismissed soon now that the treatment was over, and no matter how hard it was going to be to inform Roger about the helplessness of the situation, it was always better than having the drummer find out all hope had been in vain by having the secretary rush in on them to have them sign the dismission papers.

‘Mister May? Might we have a word?’

Brian looked up to see the doctor and the surgeon standing close to the door looking at him, and he knew he had to get up and get himself over to the place they were currently standing, even though he’d much rather stay where he was – right there with Roger in his arms, where he belonged.

‘I’ll be right back,’ he whispered at Roger, before he begrudgingly had to let go of him and get up to make it to the other side of the room. The two men had probably chosen this place to keep the conversation between the three of them, which Brian appreciated (now that Roger still practically had no idea the treatment was over and done), but he hated being away from Roger at this time, even if it was just a handful of metres.

‘Mister May,’ doctor Littlefield started once Brian had joined their little circle next to the door to the hallway. ‘I think it’s best we direct everybody out of the room and let you two have a moment.’ The man paused for a second to see how his interlocutor reacted to this proposal, and he picked up where he had left when he saw Brian nodding, be it a little despondently. ‘We’ll be back whenever you’re ready to have us back, to take care of the dismission papers and to share some practical addresses that might be of use now that the treatment procedure in this hospital is officially ove-’

Brian coughed to cut off the doctor’s final words; not only did he not want to hear the word over to be spoken by the men who had been their only hope of revival of Roger’s vision, he also hadn’t told Roger yet. And just as much as he did not want to have him find out by the secretary running into their room with a pile of dismission papers, he also aimed not to have Roger find out they had run out of options from accidentally overhearing this conversation between his boyfriend and his doctor.

Luckily, doctor Littlefield seemed to understand Brian’s hint that Roger didn’t know yet, and offered to step in and help him bring the news. ‘Would you like me to come over to tell him when everything has calmed down again?’

‘Thank you, but I think it’s best I tell him,’ Brian declined the offer politely, and both men in front of him nodded in agreement.

‘I think so, too. It’s usually best that someone close to the afflicted brings the news, and I think we all know that that should be you,’ the surgeon said. Brian smiled a little at the two people in front of him; even though the idea of having to bring Roger this terrible news was probably going to prove to be a nearly impossible task for him, hearing that people had faith in him being the right person for the job because they had seen how close Roger and he were, gave him a little sparkle of confidence. Just like all the treatments and surgeries, even when they failed time after time, had continued to give him sparkles of hope to pull him through every night and day.

‘Then I think we should leave you to it,’ doctor Littlefield said to wrap up the conversation, before he turned to the rest of the crowd in the room, most of whom by now had managed to gather and pack up all the materials and requirements they had taken with them. ‘Staff, I suggest we leave the room to mister Taylor and mister May and go on with our work.’

At the order of their superior, the nurses, optometrists, surgical assistants, and others slowly vanished from the room into the hallway. Most of them gave Brian a sympathetic, compassionate nod, and Jack stopped by to whisper he had said the exact right thing to Roger. After his departure, there were just three of them left in the room; without even having needed to tell her, Maryanne had instinctively sensed that she was going to be needed for support.

‘Another failed surgery…’

Brian closed the door behind the last leaving visitor and turned around to look at Roger, who had just sighed out these words so helplessly. He was still lying in bed, staring at the ceiling above him without of course actually seeing any of the white plasterboards that made up the upper side of the room. Even from the distance, Brian could see tears sparkling in Roger’s eyes, and he felt like he was going to have a mental breakdown if he had to wipe those tears away from Roger’s cheeks once more. When Brian thought about this, he got a feeling he was going to have to prepare himself for a total meltdown of his nervous system, because he knew that telling Roger this failed surgery marked the end of their journey, was going to make both of them tear up like they had not done before.

Maryanne, who was sitting on the empty hospital bed across from Roger’s, coughed softly to catch Brian’s attention, and once she had it, she gave him a kind but insistent nod to make him understand this was the moment he had to sit down next to Roger and tell him the one thing everything apart from the person it affected knew by now.

Brian wanted to give her a bit of a smile; if the girl had not been a nurse, she could have been a perfect psychic, because she could always read people’s minds like an open book. However, he could not get himself to wring out even the slightest of a smile for the nurse. Not now that his entire mind was being taken over by the knowledge he had to come clean to Roger and tell them he had to let go all hope of ever seeing again. For the love of God, how was one supposed to bring such news? Where was he to start, did he have to go straight to the point or make up a whole story around it to carefully deliver the unwanted message? How would Roger react to it – would he calmly surrender to this news that could hardly be called ‘news’ anymore, given that they both knew that sooner or later, the endless flow of surgeries ad medicines and medical assistance was going to be put to an end if they were not going to make a difference apart from that of the budget of the national health service? Or would the message still manage to hit him like a brick, like it had done to him?

Brian reminded himself that the only way of ever finding out how Roger would react was going to be by walking over to him and actually bringing him the news one way or another. With Maryanne’s determined expression and the idea that Roger would find out a much less pleasant way if he wasn’t going to tell him following Brian in his mind, the guitarist slowly made his way back to the bed. He stood in front of it for a few awkward moments, not sure if he had to sit down on the stool again or if he should keep standing next to the bed, but he eventually chose for a way in between both of these options, which was sitting down on the mattress right next to Roger and picking up his hand to hold it like he had done before. Roger looked into the direction the sound of Brian’s footsteps had come from, and he was looking at Brian well enough for the guitarist to look into his eyes, those eyes the medical staff had classified as a shade of ‘D17’ grey, but which for Brian held an entire ocean. Not one as blue and swirling as it used to be, but a tranquil ocean on an autumn morning where the light drizzle turned all colours into peaceful grey.

‘Are they gone?’ Roger asked softly, and Brian nodded at him, luckily soon realising that there was no use in doing so and switching to a spoken answer instead.

‘They are. It’s just you, me, and Maryanne in the room,’ Brian told him. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Of course,’ Roger said in what sounded like relief to Brian, an emotion he could very well imagine, and maybe even shared with him. No matter how nice and helpful the hospital staff was, there was such a thing as an overload of nurses and doctors running around you all day long, and that was something Brian knew for sure he was not going to miss now that they were going home again.

The words ‘going home’ reminded Brian of why he was sitting on the bed next to Roger, and he shook his head with a bit of a frown as to bring himself back to the reality of having to break the news to him. He squeezed Roger’s hand a bit tighter, swallowed painfully, and carefully turned both his own and Roger’s attention to the topic that really needed to be discussed right now.

‘Darling, there is… there is something we should talk about,’ Brian started softly, hardly daring to look at Roger now that he knew the boy was pulling off somewhat of a frown in his general direction.

‘Is it about today’s surgery?’ Roger guessed correctly, and Brian once again nodded out of habit before replying to him.

‘It is. It’s about… well, it having been unsuccessful again. _Another failed surgery_ , as you called it,’ Brian recited softly, feeling as if someone had shot a burning torch right through his heart – and most of all, like a whole dozen of these items was going to follow the first one to pierce his entire chest. He felt Roger pulling his hand back and looked up from his lap to see Roger trying to prop himself up on his hands and push himself up into a sitting position, probably sensing it was going to be more appropriate to be sitting while having this conversation despite not knowing to what point it was going to get him.

‘Is that why the doctor called you away?’ Roger asked; even though he could not see a thing, it seemed like he was quickly learning to distinguish people though their voices instead of by their looks and appearances.

‘It’s… yes, let’s say that’s why he did,’ Brian stuttered, seeing how Roger looked at him in a bit of a confused way. He could not blame him; his boyfriend was asking him a simple yes-or-no-question, yet received an ambiguous answer. Brian sighed softly; for the sake of clarity (among factors such as feeling guilty for having kept the truth from Roger all day and no longer being able to hide it any longer), he decided that this was the moment he should throw it all out and tell Roger what the situation was and how things would probably end up being for the rest of their lives.

‘Today’s surgery will be the last time it fails.’ Brian paused for a few seconds, but soon was forced to move on with the rest of the story when he realised that this sentence could also be interpreted positively, as if the next surgery was going to be successful – while in fact, there was not going to be any chance of success now that there was not going to be any treatment anymore. ‘Because today’s surgery… was the last one.’

‘The last one?’ Roger repeated a little shakily, as if the information Brian was giving him was not really reaching him yet.

‘Yes, baby. They cannot operate your eyes again,’ Brian told him, and Roger stared in his direction without moving, breathing, or even blinking. Brian knew he could not see him, but he still felt awkward under Roger’s sudden gaze; the emptiness had traded places with a haze of intenseness Brian had not seen for weeks, and he felt the need to keep talking just to distract himself from Roger’s eyes that expressed misunderstanding and disbelief more than anything else. ‘The surgeon told me this morning just when you had gotten unconscious. It’s been too many times that they’ve treated you, he said, and they don’t want to further damage the…’ In his hurry to get the story of his chest, Brian forgot the word he was looking for, and he started fumbling with the buttons of his shirt with his free hand. His right hand still was on Roger’s, but his boyfriend’s hand suddenly felt ice cold and his own felt all clammy and sweaty. It felt awkward, and the guitarist wanted to momentarily pull his hand away to wipe it off against his shirt before returning them, but he could not move - his limbs and speech seemed just as frozen as Roger’s entire body was.

‘The retina?’

Brian would have thought it was the voice of a guardian angel if he had not known it was Maryanne keeping an eye on the pair of them from the other side of the room; although, in all honesty, after all she had done for them, Maryanne might as well be a real guardian angel. The only thing that she should have done to acquire this status, was that she should have guarded Roger from the danger on November fifth both of them had not seen coming.

‘The retina, yes,’ Brian repeated, grateful for the help the nurse was offering him. Because it’s getting thinner every time they… cut into it, and they can’t endlessly operate it if they want to keep you save from eye infections or UV light damage and…’ Brian had to pause for a second to both take a deep breath and wipe away the tears that had started to roll down his cheeks during his monologue without him even noticing. ‘And so this was the last surgery. There is nothing they can do for us a-anymore at this point,’ he eventually ended his monologue, rubbing the new flow of tears away from his face with the back of his hand.

Silence. There was nothing but silence in the room; Brian assumed that Roger needed a moment to let all what he had just been told sink in, and in all honesty, so did he. Hearing himself saying all of this information out loud made Roger’s condition just a little more real than it unfortunately already was, so Brian simply joined in on Roger’s silence while holding tightly onto his partner’s hand.

After what felt like half an hour but hardly could have been more than thirty seconds, Roger was the first one of them to softly speak up. ‘So this… this… _blindness_ … won’t go away? This is… permanent?’ he asked, his eyes still in Brian’s general direction but not actually focussing on anything. If Roger still would have been able-visioned, Brian was sure this would have been one of those moments where he would have zoned out and would have been staring at a random point in space without actually noticing what was going on, simply because there was too much on his mind to keep up with the world that unfolded around him while he was stuck in his own darkness.

‘It is,’ Brian whispered, feeling his heart sink in when he saw that his comment literally sucked the last traces of hope and possibly even of his willingness to live out of Roger’s eyes. At this point, however, Brian did not yet know for how long after today he was going to have to face these empty eyes that stared into complete nothingness. That learning to accept and cope with their fate was going to be a main topic the upcoming time was something Brian had already guessed, but at this point, sitting across from each other on the bed in the safe environment of the optometry ward in the hospital, he never could have guessed just how much it was going to turn their lives around and how deep the pit of misery was that Roger’s condition was  going to dig for them.

‘There is no chance my vision will, will… restore itself?’ Roger asked one more time, just to be sure; and Brian felt his stomach turn just about the fact that he had to bring him down one more time, just to be sure Roger really understood that this was the end of it.

‘It’s… highly unlikely, I’ve been told,’ Brian whispered. Roger finally released him from his gaze (even though he probably never had been aware of the fact that his eyes had been staring in Brian’s direction in the first place) and stared down at his lap; just when he faced down, Brian noticed new tears sparkling Roger’s eyes. He watched helplessly as Roger blinked against the tears, but his attempts were in vain; within five seconds the tears were rolling down Roger’s cheeks, and Brian no longer could stand sitting there and looking while the person he loved most in the whole entire world breaking down right in front of him.

‘Oh, darling…’ Brian took his hand off Roger’s fingers with the intention to throw both of his arms around his partner’s upper body and pull him closer to himself, but it suddenly dawned on him that this might not be the best idea, given that Roger might be startled by sudden physical contact. Therefore, Brian carefully placed both his hands on Roger’s shoulders, pulled him towards him until Roger’s ‘Come here, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here with you. I love you,’ he said as he pressed his lips against Roger’s messy tresses of blond hair, pulling his partner as close to his torso as possible. Roger still seemed unable to move, so Brian did not know if he did not resist against him pulling him close to his body because he could not resist or because he did not want to. He was hoping for the latter; that this was, as Jack had said, one of those moments when Roger needed to know he was loved and supported by his partner most. With Jack’s words of wisdom lingering in the back of his mind, Brian placed one hand on the back of Roger’s head and the other on his lower back, softly rocking him in his arms and whispering him no longer that there was still hope and that things might turn out okay – because he knew that the time of hoping for improvement was behind them now that they both knew the medical world had given up on them -  but telling him that he was there for him, that he loved him, and that they would find a way to get through it together.

‘What are we… we going to do now?’ Roger sobbed helplessly against his shoulder. Brian felt a wet spot of tears forming and rapidly expanding on the cotton fabric of his grey shirt at the height of his shoulder, but this was of course least of his concerns now that he had a broken boyfriend to console with practically nothing to say to him. Everything he used to say, about future surgeries that might make a change or medicines that could save his eyesight if he just kept taking them each day, was no longer relevant or credible; he had to come up with a new way to comfort Roger, but he had yet to find out which way this was going to be.

‘I don’t know, but I’ll figure all of that out,’ Brian promised. ‘Trust me to take care of that,’ he added in a most confidential voice; even though he had no idea how exactly they were going to go around living like this for probably the rest of their lives, he was determined to come up with an response to this unanswered question that had arisen.

Roger, however, seemed to have less faith in Brian’s promise to ‘figure things out’ and ‘take care of everything,’ and Brian could not blame him for this even one bit; he could not expect Roger to trust him to know what to do in a nerve-wrecking situation both of them were completely new to. The guitarist simply wished his promise would enable Roger to let go of his worries, now that he had so much on his mind already after today. Unfortunately, Brian’s promise did not seem to meet up to its expectations, given that Roger immediately had a similar question for him.

‘And how will we m-manage? With the house, and the band, and…’

‘That is also something we’ll all sort out in due time. I don’t want you to worry about any of that now,’ Brian whispered, looking deeply into Roger’s eyes to see if he could detect a hint of emotion other than sadness and desolation – something like confidence in him to take care of the things Roger was worried about. However, he could not see anything apart from tears spilling out of the sea of grey, and Roger’s third question proved that he still had no faith in Brian’s capability of saving the two of them out of the nerve-wrecking situation that was lying ahead of them, a new road to face without Roger even being capable of seeing it.

‘But where will we go now?’

This question at last managed to bring the smallest of a smile to Brian’s face, because this was a question he did have an answer to for a change; not to say, it was a question he had been wanting to answer since the day they got here. Of course, leaving behind the hospital and all of its great staff that had been pulling the two of them through the most physically and emotionally wrecking situations was not going to be easy – not to say that it probably was going to prove to be an unprecedented challenge for both Roger and him to be without the help of Maryanne and Jack and doctor Littlefield, and not to even mention how hard it was going to be to live with the idea that things were never going to get better for Roger. But Brian knew they could do it, they could cope with all of it, because the whole situation, no matter how much he wished and prayed and begged he could turn everything around, had pulled them as close together as the gravity between them could possibly allow them to be.

Therefore, Brian carefully detached Roger from his place closely against his chest to put his hands on whose shoulder in an attempt to let him share the confidence Brian suddenly felt how that he thought about where they were going. He pressed his lips against Roger’s pale cheek and afterwards continued to stroke the soft skin of his face while he looked deeply into those tear-drenched eyes, hoping with all of his heart that his answer to Roger’s question might drive away the grey haze that seemed to have fallen over Roger’s eyes.

‘We’re going back to where we belong. I’m bringing you home, darling,’ Brian whispered, the new tears welling up behind his eyes most likely to be mixture of not only the usual pain, grief, and misunderstanding of why this had to be their fate, but for the first time since they had entered the hospital also those of relief, caused by the knowledge that they were final going to return to the place they came from. The place they had missed. The place they belonged. ‘We’re finally going home again.’


	2. Chapter 1

‘Brian? Are you there?’

Roger’s soft, husky morning voice broke the silence in the bedroom, and Brian, who was standing in front of their wardrobe, peered over his shoulder to look at him while letting the question circulate in his cloud of thoughts. It was a question Brian had to listen to way too often lately, and he started to hate it more every time he heard it. It made him feel more and more powerless every time his boyfriend asked him if he was there with him. How he dreaded that question, how it reminded him of that one terrible thing that had happened, that one terrible moment that had changed their lives forever. But of course, he didn’t want to bother Roger with his own sadness and helplessness, given that handling his own grief was a big enough task for Roger, so he answered most calmly and kindly.

‘Yes, baby. Of course I am,’ he managed as gracefully as possible, not knowing if he had to allow the small smile that tugged at the corners of his lips to really shine through, or if he had to bite down his bottom lip in pain and frustration when he saw Roger clumsily throw the covers aside and prop himself up on his hands. Brian habitually reached out to find the light switch of the nightlight. Only when he had switched it on, he remembered that it wouldn’t make a difference for Roger, and Brian blinked against the tears numerous times, until he was sure they weren’t going to interrupt him while he would speak to his boyfriend, which was all he could hope for now.

‘Did you sleep well?’ he asked with a lump in his throat after he had settled down next to Roger on the bed, tugging his fingers through Roger’s sweaty blond locks of hair.

‘I woke up a few times,’ Roger said, and Brian nodded, then changed this gesture into a compassionate ‘I noticed, baby.’ Though Roger never said a word or turned to Brian when he woke up at night, since he didn’t want to bother him, Brian could always tell exactly whether he was sleeping or not. Brian knew Roger didn’t want him to know that he fell out of sleep so often, but it was too obvious to the guitarist when Roger didn’t even bother closing his eyes while trying to slip into unconsciousness again. Way too often, it was Brian who carefully pressed his eyelids close when Roger simply forgot this part of trying to fall asleep in the darkness that surrounded him at all times.

‘Did you have any dreams? Saw something nice? Colours, maybe?’ Brian asked hopefully. He didn’t know why Roger’s dreams were so important to him – probably because those were the only times he ever really experienced something visual lately. Maybe because he hoped these images Roger was seeing at night might indicate that things would get better, even though Brian knew very well that this hope was in vain.

Roger thought for a second, before he answered: ‘Something about the last tour. We were in Japan, and we walked out of the press conference hall and… we sat down on the grass somewhere outside, to look at the trees. Those pink ones, you see? I don’t remember what they’re called…’ Roger’s sentence ended in a mumble when he couldn’t remember the name of the tree he was looking for, and he started chewing on the inside of his cheek as he pondered out loud. ‘It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t recall  the name…’

‘Cherry blossoms, you mean,’ Brian added once he had recalled the beautiful pastel pink blossom trees they had seen in Japan. Roger had immediately fallen in love with those miracles of nature, and sometimes, when he focussed really deeply, he could still picture them.

‘Yes, the cherry blossoms. They were really pretty. Very… Vibrant. Colourful…’ Roger’s voice trailed down again, and though he was facing down, Brian could see that his bottom lip had started to tremble, and he cursed under his breath. The last thing he had been aiming for was to upset Roger, and especially not first thing in the morning. They were both still tired from another intense day and another broken night, and Brian knew that this day, that had only just started, was going to be even harder. Starting to cry wasn’t going to make things any easier right now – in fact, he was afraid that if Roger was to tear up right now, he would break down for real himself. Therefore, he leant in to take Roger into his embrace, kissing the top of his head.

‘I’m glad you had a nice dream,’ Brian said with a bit of a painful smile, relieved that he could now move on to the next topic. ‘Come, let’s get out of bed, let’s get dressed. I collected your favourite outfit,’ he said in a useless attempt to cheer Roger up.

‘With those pale blue jeans?’ Roger asked, and Brian nodded, before correcting himself with a spoken version of the confirmation. Hesitantly, but not visibly begrudgingly, Roger moved towards the edge of the mattress, and Brian stood up to take the hand Roger held out to him into his own. Brian stared aimlessly at the thin, willowy digits in the palm of his hand, before he closed his fingers over them so he didn’t have to look at the contours of Roger’s phalanges, which were visible through the bleak, pale skin. The situation had really taken its toll on Brian’s lover; the stress and dejection had made Roger reluctant to eating lately, and Brian was sure that Roger must have lost at least twenty pounds, if not more. Brian told himself that he would make him some nice breakfast, even though he knew Roger wouldn’t take more than just a few bites. Eating was the last thing on his mind lately, and especially in the morning he wasn’t in for food. This was the time when the realisation of being unable to experience the world around him without one of his main senses sank in after a night in which he had been fleeing from the awful reality.

Brian supported Roger when the drummer stumbled out of bed, watching him when Roger used his free hand to rub his eyes. He was evidently still very tired, and Brian would have preferred to put him right back into bed and let him sleep until noon, but he couldn’t. They had made an appointment with Freddie and John, and after worrying them by cancelling the previous two arrangements, they couldn’t let them down a third time.

‘You can walk to the wardrobe, baby. There’s nothing in the way,’ Brian said after having thoroughly expected the small gap between the bed and the wall. Before, dirty clothes and pairs of shoes used to pile up next to the bed, but Brian now made sure that the floor was always free of objects that were not supposed to be there – things Roger could easily trip over, especially when he wasn’t there to lead him the way.

Carefully, Roger followed his boyfriend step for step, before ending up in front of the closet, where he stared at his reflection in the life-size mirror attached to the door of the wardrobe. That was, his eyes were focussed on it; seeing was something no longer connected to looking at something. Brian tried to push this thought away by looking away from Roger’s hollow eyes and instead opened the door of the closet, pulling out the small pile of clothes he had collected while Roger had been still asleep – underwear, a pair of socks, his favourite jeans, a white shirt, and a knitted cardigan that was supposed to hide the weight loss Roger had been – and still was – suffering from. Brian gently pushed Roger down on the bed and knelt down in front of him to help him get rid of his nightwear.

‘So, let’s get you out of this,’ Brian sang, starting to undo the buttons of Roger’s soaked nightshirt, which sloppily clung to his clammy chest. He wasn’t doing too well at night lately – he often woke up in cold sweat multiple times a night, and the results of this were visible every morning.

‘Do you want to take a shower?’ Brian proposed after having manoeuvred the sleeves past Roger’s thin arms, but his boyfriend feebly shook his head. He was tired and probably feeling miserable and not at all in for an early morning shower, which Brian understood, but he did insist on giving him a bit of a clean-up. He made his way to the bathroom, where he prepared a water-soaked washcloth to clean Roger’s arms and torso with. He was quick to return, not wanting to leave Roger alone for even a second longer than necessary, and he habitually pressed the cold piece of fabric against Roger’s naked chest without warning him. Roger nearly jumped up in shock, and Brian could instantly hit himself for not realising that he couldn’t simply touch Roger like before without warning him in advantage. Now that he couldn’t see the approach of both people or objects, he had to be told in advantage what was going to happen; if not, he would literally jump up in fear, like he had done now.

‘I’m sorry, darling, I forgot. I should’ve told you,’ Brian said in sincere guiltiness.

‘It’s alright,’ Roger squeaked, but Brian could feel his way too rapid heartbeat pounding against his thin ribcage, which indicated that he really had been frightened by unexpectedly being touched. Brian felt awful about it; they were both being punished for what happened when he wasn’t paying ultimate attention at all times. Taking care of Roger demanded vigilance, protectiveness, and alertness twenty-four hours a day. One slip of the focus could instantly lead to dangerous situations. Luckily, this had only caused quite a bit of a jolt for Roger and another guilt complex for his caretaker.

Even more careful than before, Brian got Roger dressed and answered his questions about the clothes he had picked out, if the weather was good, if anyone was to come over or if they had to visit yet another doctor that day. It was just the usual conversation they had every morning, but Brian was glad to talk about these trivial things; the first days after the clinical diagnose, Roger hadn’t spoken to either him or anyone else, be it medical personnel or friends and family, at all. He was starting to open up now, fortunately, because the silent sadness had been driving Brian into desperation even more than the helpless sobbing he was now being confronted with at least three times a day.

Once Brian had fastened the last buttons of Roger’s grey cardigan, which he had bought just two weeks ago and which the wearer of it therefore had never seen, Brian quickly dragged a comb through his messy hair, after which he ushered him out of the bedroom with the message that it was time for breakfast – something that was being received with a grimace by Roger. On the corridor, Brian opened the stair gate that he and his father had installed last week as a safety precaution, since Brian was terrified of Roger falling down the stairs in one of those spare but dangerous moments when he wasn’t around to look after him. While Brian tried his best to guard him at all times, there were moments in which he simply couldn’t. This had already led to a few unfortunate incidents, like Brian having to clutch onto a towel and rush out of the shower cabin that time Roger had hit his head into the kitchen drawer, which had left a bleeding wound just above his left eye, and that time Brian  completely ruined one of his favourite shirts when he had to leave the flatiron behind after Roger accidentally having touched the boiling hot device in his quest for the fridge.

They slowly made their way downstairs, Brian leading the way, his hand on the back of Roger’s shirt and the other hand on the guardrail to rule out the potential danger of falling. He sat Roger down on one of the kitchen chairs and asked him what he wanted to eat. He received the usual half-hearted ‘I’m not really hungry’ from Roger, but decided to try and make the best out of it by preparing some buttered toast, scrambled eggs, and maybe press some leftover oranges for fresh orange juice. One glance at Roger’s pale complexion told him that he could very well use some vitamin C, and when he pulled out a prying pan, he hoped he could convince Roger to eat something. He was going to need it today even more than usual.

He was hopeful that Roger was, for a chance, going to eat, when the younger man slowly stood up from his chair and cautiously crept up behind him. Brian felt his presence even more than the soft fingertips bumping up against the small of his back, after which they slipped around his waist, and he allowed himself to smile a little for the first time of the morning. Before, it used to be him who used to stand behind Roger with his arms around him as he was preparing – _trying_ to prepare, that was – breakfast for them, but the roles had changed now that Roger couldn’t be trusted with fire anymore. He knew he had to stay away from the stove when Brian was cooking, to cut back the risk of him burning himself. But Brian could feel Roger letting go of his waist and a little clumsily trying to wriggle himself between him and the stove, and hoping that it was a sign that Roger was starting to get interested in eating again, Brian allowed it for once.

‘Be careful, angel,’ Brian warned anyway, pressing Roger closely against his own torso and pushing the pan as far back as possible to distance Roger from the source of potential danger.

‘What are you making?’ Roger asked him.

‘Scrambled eggs. Are you hungry?’ Brian asked hopefully as he stirred the whitish- and yellowish pulpy mass with a plastic spatula.

‘I don’t know…’ Roger answered hesitantly. ‘Can I stir it, though?’ he asked, and Brian sighed inaudibly. He didn’t want Roger to burn himself, and letting him stir the food he was cooking was literally playing with fire. He knew he hadn’t allowed Roger to do _anything_ lately, and it might have been time to give him a chance to carry out something, but after having played safe by not even allowing him to leave the bed, the sofa or the kitchen table without his supervision for the last weeks, he wasn’t really ready to let Roger come close to fire now.

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, baby. Maybe another time,’ Brian told him kindly but sternly. Though he couldn’t see him, he could visualise the pouty lips Roger would usually pull off when he told him no, but Brian told himself that the rejection of his proposal was necessary to protect him. Everything he did lately was to protect Roger, who had been going though way too much already to experience anything unpleasant.

Brian leant over to remove the bread from the toaster and butter the pieces of toast with a little more margarine than usual, knowing that Roger could use some extra calories very well. He then extinguished the small flame beneath the pan and scraped the contents of the frying pan together, dividing the scrambled eggs over the two pieces of toast. Upon opening the fridge, Brian found that some of the oranges were starting to rot, so he decided to press the remaining fruits and give the orange juice to Roger, who needed it way more than he did.

‘Come, let’s sit down at the table,’ Brian offered when he had laid the table; that was, when he had put the plates of food down and equipped himself with a fork and knife, since he didn’t trust Roger to handle cutlery yet. He pulled out Roger’s chair and watched as the younger man slightly clumsily sat down. ‘On your bottom, please,’ he added when he saw that Roger had somehow crawled into a kneeling position on the seat of the kitchen chair. It was a position Brian used to be fine with, but now, he wanted to prevent Roger from losing his balance and fall. Roger sighed for a bit, probably finding Brian to be too protective, but  changed his pose anyway.

‘Much better,’ Brian praised him and started to cut Roger’s breakfast into small squares that he could easily pick up and eat without having to use cutlery. He was hoping to avoid chaos by this, but he soon realised that he should’ve known  that cutting a piece of toast covered with scrambled eggs would turn into a disaster no matter what. When he had cut the toast in small cubes, he tried to put as much of the fallen pieces of egg on it again, before putting the plate back in front of Roger.

‘Breakfast’s ready, dear. You can go ahead,’ he encouraged his boyfriend hopefully, but instead of reaching out to feel where his plate was, Roger simply stared down at the table – without seeing anything, of course – and remained sound- and motionless.

The image of Roger with his huddled shoulders, his pale complexion and distant eyes made Brian chew on his bottom lip in worry. He wanted to do anything to make Roger talk, eat, drink, and simply feel happy again, but he was running out of ideas and strength to do so. Carrying on as he was without breaking out in sadness and frustration towards the whole world, seemed to be all Brian was capable of doing lately.

‘Please, Roger. Eat something. You skipped dinner last night as well, and you really need some nutrition,’ Brian reminded him, and the drummer begrudgingly raised his hand to pick up a small square of toast between his shaky thumb- and forefinger. Unfortunately, half of the topping fell off of it and landed on his lap during the act of bringing it up to his lips, and Roger stilled his movements to habitually stare at the place where it had fallen down. Brian sighed softly. _So close._

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll feed you,’ he said after he had wiped the scrambled eggs off Roger’s jeans and cardigan. He knew it was wrong; Roger was supposed to learn to eat on his own, and this simply took a lot of time and patience. Unfortunately, these two things were concepts Brian did not have that morning; they had an appointment at nine o’clock, and Brian was afraid Roger wouldn’t even consume three pieces of his toast if he was to let him eat himself. On top of that, he was very tired and simply not in the mood to see the minutes pass on the clock while Roger would fumble around without actually eating anything, so he pulled the plate closer and picked up a piece of toast.

Roger didn’t object to this plan – in fact, he even parted his lips to make it easier for Brian to feed him. Still, saying that he was moving in the right direction would have been premature. After three pieces of toast, he was already less willing to eat, and by the time Brian brought up the sixth, Roger refused to open his mouth for him, mumbling ‘I’m not hungry anymore’ between pursed lips. Brian gave it a few fruitless tries, before giving in to his inevitable defeat and pushing the plate back.

‘You do have to drink your orange juice,’ Brian ordered softly as he simply pressed the glass in Roger’s hands. He seemed a little reluctant, but when Brian didn’t let go of the glass and even brought it up to his lips, he soon gave in and downed half of the juice in only a handful of swigs, the rest of the contents following soon after. Brian smiled a bit when he put the glass down on the table again, awarding Roger an affection rub over his cheek.

‘Very good. You must have been thirsty,’ he said, to which Roger agreed softly. He looked at Brian in anticipation, as if he was expecting something from him. Brian ruled out the idea that he was hungry, and soon discovered what it else it could be.

‘I believe you want to sit with me, right?’ he assumed, and Roger nodded forcefully. He instantly slid down the chair and turned around to let Brian grab both his sides and pull him on his lap. When he was seated, Roger leant back against Brian, who threw both arms around his skinny torso and put his head on his shoulder to be as close as possible to his lover.

‘Are you ready for today?’ Brian asked him after a few seconds of comfortable silence, in which they both simply enjoyed the feeling of being so close to each other. They always used to sit together while have breakfast, to be close to each other before facing the day, but only after the accident Roger had started to crawl onto his boyfriend’s lap practically every morning for an even more intimate moment between the two of them.

‘I’m not sure. I don’t think I will… do very well,’ Roger sighed, insecurely starting to peel at his nails.

‘I’m sure you’ll try the best you can, and that’s all we’re asking for,’ Brian tried to soothe him. ‘And it will take a lot of time, of course. The therapist at the hospital said it’s possible to learn to play again-’

‘It’s not that I need to know how to play again. It’s not my hands that aren’t working,’ Roger corrected Brian softly.

‘You’re right. Your hands are working just the same; we just need to show them the way. And that will take some time and effort. You can’t expect to be able to play flawlessly after a month, and that’s okay. We have all the time in the world,’ Brian tried to console him, but it turned out that his words were rather counterproductive, since they had the exact opposite effect on Roger. He tried not to let it show, but Brian noticed that he could hardly keep his tears to himself when he mentioned the fact that Roger wasn’t going to be able to play like he used to do anywhere soon.

‘Roger?’ Brian called his name, and when Roger simply shook his head in response, he could tell for sure that he was on the verge of tears, and Brian sighed in compassion as he wrapped his arms a little tighter around him and nuzzled at his blond tresses, knowing that this extra boost of clinginess would make Roger tear up instantly. It wasn’t that he wanted to see his boyfriend cry – quite the opposite, actually. But during rehabilitation, he had learned soon enough that when Roger was feeling down or outright miserable, it was best to help him open up about it and let him cry his heart out right then right there, instead of letting him bottle up his feelings until they would inevitably come out later. Luckily, breakfast hadn’t taken very long since Roger had hardly eaten anything, so there was plenty of time left to let his boyfriend cry for a bit. And even if there wasn’t, Brian would have _created_ time for it.

Brian continued to press his cheek against Roger’s girlishly long hair and carefully stroked his side.  ‘Darling, I can tell you’re upset. What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?’ he asked him as he nuzzled at Roger’s long, blond hair. When he heard Roger emit a dry sob, he knew he was on the right track, and just one more question about his wellbeing was all it took to make Roger let down his walls, tears instantly flowing down his face in crystal white streams.

‘This isn’t going to work, Bri. I-I won’t be able to play,’ Roger sobbed helplessly, and Brian bit down his bottom lip while throwing his arms tighter around him. This was exactly what he had been fearing for; Roger wanting to back out when the time to get back to work was upon them, because he feared he simply couldn’t do it anymore. And of course, it was a fear they all shared; Roger not being able to play like he used to do. But Roger sure was a great drummer who knew all their songs by heart, who hardly ever had to look up to see what he was doing; he could already play most of the parts blindly before he even had to. On top of that, there were many examples of musicians who had continued their career in music after having lost their vision, even of those who were born without it and still did an amazing job on the piano, guitar, or drums. According to the therapists and counsellors they had endlessly been talking to, it was absolutely possible for Roger to continue drumming.

‘Of course you will be! Listen, this is a whole new situation, and we will all have to get used to it, but that doesn’t mean we can’t do it. We’re Queen, right? The impossible has never scared us,’ Brian smiled a bit, but Roger didn’t seem to share his optimism.

‘You should get a new drummer, Bri. Someone who can actually play and won’t be such a burden to the three of you-’ Roger started gloomily, but Brian wasn’t having any of it.

‘You’re not a burden to us, baby, and I refuse to even think about hiring someone else. _You_ are our drummer and we believe in you,’ he answered determinedly, pressing a kiss against Roger’s neck, but his boyfriend hardly reacted to it and instead continued his heart-breaking sobs.

‘That’s the whole… the whole point!’ Roger cried. ‘You are all putting your trust in me, while I don’t even know if I can still hit a drum w-without messing up!’ he confided, after which  he needed a second to simply cry before he could choke out his biggest fear. ‘I don’t want to fail…’

‘And you won’t! You won’t fail, believe me. Look at me, Roger,’ Brian said, then suddenly remembered that Roger didn’t obey to his request because it wouldn’t make a difference for him anyway; whether he was facing his direction or the other side, he wouldn’t see him anyway. Still, Brian preferred to be able to look into those pretty blue eyes when he talked to Roger, so he carefully swung both Roger’s legs to the left to make him sit on his lap in a sideway position, to make it easier for Brian to look at him and hug him, which he did instantly. ‘Roger, baby, as long as you’re trying, you won’t fail in our eyes.’

‘Just _trying_ won’t help us sell any records!’ Roger brought in tearfully, and Brian pressed him closer against his chest.

‘You shouldn’t worry about selling records. We don’t worry about selling records either. The only thing that’s on our mind lately is that we miss you and that we want to have you back.’

‘You’re j-just saying that to make me feel better,’ Roger objected.

‘Of course not. How could we possibly go on without you?’ Brian said, patting Roger’s back like one would do with a newborn. In fact, Brian sometimes felt like it would be less intense to be taking care of a newborn than of Roger. Less emotionally wrecking, that was.

‘That’s fairly easy,’ Roger mumbled, but Brian didn’t allow him to lapse into this state of insecurity and negativity.

‘Believe me, we’d never find someone like you again. We wouldn’t even look for someone new, because we know we would never find someone who could live up to your standards, be it with or without eyesight,’ Brian answered. Then, when Roger remained silent for a few seconds, the guitarist quickly pulled his face closer to place a kiss on both of his teary cheeks. ‘Come, it’s time to go. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’re just going to meet up with the rest today and then we’ll take it from there. There’s nothing else we can do, right?’ he said, and Roger nodded gloomily in response. Roger shifted around to move off his lap, and Brian put his hands at both of Roger’s sides to put him down on the floor again, guiding him to the hallway. The image of the mess he had left in the kitchen only then dawned on Brian, but he decided that this wasn’t the best moment to put a still quietly sobbing Roger down on a chair and clean the floor of pieces of scrambled egg. They hopefully would be home early, so he could clear away the remainders of their breakfast later that day.

In the hallway, Roger got down on his knees in front of the row of neatly assorted shoes, finding his pair of sneakers by having remembered their position the night before. Brian threw on the first coat he could find and laced up Roger’s shoes, when it turned out that his partner’s fingers were still shaking too badly to do this on his own. He then helped Roger stand up from the floor, wiped the dust off his knees and manoeuvred his arms into the sleeves of his coat. Before he went on to zip up the garment, he brushed a few leftover crumbs of toast off Roger’s grey cardigan and studied his overall appearance for a few seconds. His complexion was pale, tears were still running down his cheeks and dripping off his chin, his body was visibly trembling, and he simply looked _lost_ to Brian, lost like a small child who had been looking for his parents in a crowd of people on the Saturday afternoon market for over an hour, and who hadn’t managed to find them despite all the effort.

Brian pulled a small package of handkerchiefs that he carried around at all times since the accident out of the back pocket of his jeans, tore out one of the paper tissues and delicately started wiping the remaining tears off Roger’s face. When he was done, he stuffed the crumpled handkerchief back in his pocket and embraced Roger one more time, both worried and comforted by the fact that Roger clamped on to him like a vice.  

‘Brave little angel. It’ll be alright,’ Brian mumbled while repeatedly kissing Roger’s hair, and he desperately tried to keep believing this uplifting thought himself when just the expression on Roger’s face was enough to make him understand that the drummer had zero confidence in the business.

‘I’m hoping so desperately that you’re right,’ Roger squeaked, pressing himself just a little closer against Brian’s lanky body. Brian closed his eyes, inwardly praying that he was right about everything going to turn out positively.

‘Of course it’s going to be alright. We’re together in this, remember? And we have the support of John and Freddie and all the others to help us,’ Brian responded, more to reassure himself than to reassure the younger man, who seemed to have drifted into absent-mindedness once again.

‘Come, let’s go to the car. Freddie and John are waiting for us. They can’t wait to see you again,’ Brian told Roger, then realised that it was probably only stressing him out even more to know that people were looking forward to seeing him again, people who probably had certain expectations of what he was able to do now – expectations Roger was afraid he could not live up to.

Brian wordlessly guided Roger outside the house and shut the door behind them, feeling bad when the noise of it startled Roger a little. As he turned the key around in the lock of the door, Brian knew that returning to the studio and trying to pick up their old lives as musicians was going to be either the best or the worst decision he had made since the hellish night that had put them in this situation.

# # #

Brian secretly hoped that they would be first to arrive at the studio so Roger could have a little more time to prepare for going back to work again without the others buzzing around, but unfortunately, he could see John’s car being parked on the driveway the moment they showed up. He parked their car next to John’s and gave Roger a bit of a much required pep talk before stepping out of the car. Roger clamped onto his arm when they made their way through the pebble-stoned path that led to the door of the studio, but before they had even crossed half of the distance, Freddie and John seemed to have noticed their arrival and stormed outside. Brian was for the first time in forever happy that Freddie shouted Roger’s name loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear, because otherwise he surely would have been startled even more the moment Freddie suddenly leant in to wrap his arms around him and even lifted him up a few inches off his feet. Roger gasped, but Freddie and John hardly seemed to notice this in their state of ecstasy.

‘Roger, darling, we’re so happy to see you again!’ Freddie cried, pecking both Roger’s cheeks the moment he placed him down on his feet again. Even John, who was usually shy and reserved, first characteristically waited his turn before fully embracing Roger for an uncomfortably long time while whispering, ‘We’re so glad to have you back, we’ve missed you.’

‘I, eh… I’m happy to see you, too,’ Roger stammered, a bit overwhelmed by the unexpectedly enthusiastic welcome. Neither he nor Brian had expected their friends to behave like they hadn’t seen each other in years, given that their last meeting could hardly have been more than a week ago. Maybe it was just the setting; last time they had seen each other had been at their place, and now they were standing in front of the studio, hoping to pick up their lives as musicians again.

When Roger was eventually let go of, Brian guided him inside the building, threw their coats somewhere on a coat rack that was completely empty apart from the jackets of John and Freddie. This was a relief to Brian, who had requested to be alone the first day in the studio – just the four of them trying to find out what Roger was capable of after the accident, without producers or sound engineers or other technical personnel buzzing around them. Despite everyone protesting that they wanted to be there, it seemed like they had listened to Brian’s demand and left them alone for that day, thank God.

‘Be careful, Roger. Don’t trip over the wires,’ Brian said while guiding Roger towards his drum kit in the corner of the studio room. Though most of the wires were taped down to the floor after many incidents of people having tripped over them, it was still possible to fall over the many cables scattered around the studio floor. Luckily, they safely reached their destination, and Roger sat down on the stool, using his hands to determine the location of his drums, before using his fingertips to feel at the tight membrane of the instrument.

‘I’ve missed this feeling,’ Roger admitted while running his finger along the circular iron edges of the drums, and though his voice sounded cheerful, Brian could feel the sadness hidden behind this façade – it undoubtedly made Roger emotional to finally sit behind his drums after months of having spent his days in hospital, rehabilitation centres, and therapy rooms, not to even _mention_ the fact that he knew that all of this wouldn’t be of any use to him to help pick up his provision again.

 _The thing that might actually help him are his drumsticks,_ Brian thought to himself a little sarcastically, picking up the two wooden sticks from the floor right next to Roger’s left feet, the place where he had put them down the last time they had been working in the studio, unaware that he was never going to be able to see them again. 

‘Here are your drum sticks,’ Brian whispered while placing the both sticks in each of Roger’s hands, watching as Roger carefully closed his fingers around the objects that he hadn’t touched in months. He seemed a little unsure of what to do and looked into Brian’s direction, pretty blue eyes blinking innocently, wordlessly asking for help.

‘Shall I guide you?’ Brian asked, and Roger nodded while facing down. He seemed ashamed, maybe even disappointed in himself – disappointed that he was unable to do the one thing he had always been amazing at without any help. Though Brian thought there was nothing to be ashamed of, he could at the same time understand Roger’s reticence towards trying out what he was still able of, simply because the future of the band was at stake if it turned out that he couldn’t play anymore.

Quickly pushing this thought out of his mind and telling himself that Roger surely would still be able to play, Brian pulled out a tip-up chair from the cafeteria and sat down right behind Roger to help him. To reduce the pressure Brian knew they were putting on Roger by standing around them and monitoring every movement he made, he suggested that it was better for Freddie and John pick up an instrument and just play for a bit, so they soon followed his example and sat down across from them. Roger was hesitant at first, but when John set in a rhythm, accompanied by Freddie’s voice, and Brian’s hands closed around his wrists to guide him the way, he eventually carefully started hitting the drum right in front of him, eventually moving on to the ones that were a little further away. It started off slowly and softly, as if Roger didn’t have the courage to let himself go right away, but after a long time of fumbling around, repeatedly feeling for the position of each one of the drums, calling the jam session for a stop every time he lost track on what he was doing, and fighting against the tears multiple all throughout the time, it finally seemed to be getting better. Though it wasn’t going great yet, Brian could sure detect a rhythm in his partner’s drumming, and he was relieved to find that Roger still seemed to have the feeling for playing his instrument; it was just the execution and his self-esteem they had to work on.

‘Can I try on my own, Bri?’ Roger asked after a while, and Brian smiled.

‘You’re making progress so fast, baby,’ Brian said, not so much because Roger had started playing significantly better over the course of half an hour, but because he had gathered the courage to play by himself without guidance, something he was still very much dependent on in his everyday life.

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ Roger protested against the compliment. ‘I just want to see what I can do on my own. I think,’ he added insecurely, fiddling around with the drum sticks.

‘That’s very brave of you,’ Brian praised, knowing how difficult it was for Roger, who he had seen transform from a playful, bright, and cheerfully careless epicurean into one of the most quiet, shy, and overly self-conscious persons he had ever encountered in his life. To see him trying to figure out something new on his own meant a lot to Brian, who encouraged his attempts to be independent by letting go of his wrists.

‘You can’t guide me while having to play guitar yourself after all, now can you?’ Roger giggled a little uneasily, and just the sound of this made Brian’s heart melt. These were those small moment of joy he needed to experience every now and then to carry on; the short moments of happiness that proved that all the struggles and sleepless nights were worth it. In the sea of darkness that had absorbed their lives lately, the smallest signs of happiness – a half-hearted smile that wasn’t instantly followed by tearful eyes, a hesitant peck on his cheek when his quietness and stillness made Roger falsely believe he wasn’t sleeping yet, a hug that was purely affectionate instead of one of those overly tight embraces that served to make Roger feel slightly better after having awoken from yet another nightmare: sometimes these were Brian’s only sources of joy. These were the only moments that kept Brian going, that made him believe that there were better times to come, that the situation wouldn’t always be as hopeless as it was at the moment.

‘I can’t, but I have no problems postponing my own contribution to our music to help you play, or to simply sit next to you and be here for you,’ Brian said, placing a kiss against the crook between Roger’s neck and shoulder, to which the younger man blushed a little.  

‘I suggest we play something sentimental for our lovebirds over there,’ Freddie interrupted their conversation only slightly mockingly – the smile plastered across his face proved that he was rather enjoying the image of his two friends sharing a happy moment between the two of them, knowing it probably wasn’t going to last very long.

‘Sorry,’ Roger apologised quickly managing to wash away the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips, much to Brian’s disappointment.

‘Don’t be,’ Freddie hastily said, not wanting to be the one to break off the scarce moment in which Roger seemed to be happy, which was, according to Brian’s descriptions of their time together, not something that happened often lately. ‘I’m sure I speak for each one of us when I say that I’m glad to see you smile again,’ Freddie answered, and John and mainly Brian couldn’t agree more.

# # #

After hours of being in the studio and determining pretty well what Roger was capable of and what he was going to have to learn again, Brian discovered that they were fiddling around rather than working. It seemed to get harder and harder to get everyone to focus on a part at the same time and they were constantly bickering over the smallest trivialities. When he also noticed that Roger was starting to get tired – whining about the littlest details, yawning continually, getting overly emotional when he didn’t manage to play certain parts Brian thought were way too hard in the first place, and breaking down in tears because of this more than a few times  – he decided to put an end to it for the day. They agreed to meet up again in a few days, when Roger was hopefully ready for a second round of trying to pick up the studio work. Unfortunately for Brian, who wanted to leave it at that and simply go home after that arrangement, Freddie insisted that they should come over for tea. Brian tried to dismiss the idea by telling Freddie various excuses, but Freddie was having none of it; he simply handed them their coats and practically dragged them towards his house.

This was why about thirty minutes later, Brian found himself sitting on the floral sofa of Freddie and John’s house with a cup of jasmine tea in his hand and an awful mood that was the complete opposite of the obviously cheerful atmosphere clinging around their frontman. Brian quietly sipped from his tea and constantly peered over his shoulder to see if Roger and John were still standing in the kitchen. He couldn’t quite detect Roger, and he wanted to get up to see where he was and if he was still safe for whatever dangers an unknown environment like this could provide, but Freddie wouldn’t let him go anywhere. He poured him some more tea while rattling about things so trivial that Brian couldn’t even _pretend_ to be listening. He hummed in agreement or nodded his head at times he hoped were appropriate while he discretely looked around to find his boyfriend.

After countless minutes of having pretended to listen to nonsensical topics, Freddie said something that finally caught Brian’s attention; a subject that _did_ interest him for a change, unlike his previous monologues about the weather seeming to get worse instead of better, the supermarket not selling his favourite tea flavour anymore, and John’s sister having telephoned them the other day to ask if she could come over for a chat sometime.

‘Distracting you from Roger doesn’t work, now does it?’ Freddie assumed, and Brian shook his head.

‘How could I possibly think about something else than him?’ Brian replied gloomily, absent-mindedly glancing out of the window.

‘So do we,’ Freddie agreed with a sigh. ‘Is he doing alright, Brian? He’s lost quite a bit of weight, hasn’t he?’ he asked.

‘An awful lot, I’m afraid. He’s doing better than before, emotionally, but he keeps saying he’s not hungry and it’s practically impossible to feed him,’ Brian replied, concern audible in his voice.

‘He’ll gain it back once he feels better, I’m sure,’ Freddie said, placing his hand over Brian’s. ‘Look at the positive things. He’s out of hospital, there’s nothing visible of the… accident, we went to the studio today and he did better than we could have imagined…’ Freddie enumerated. ‘And you said he slept pretty well, right?’ Freddie tried to address Brian, but the guitarist just shook his head and placed the half-empty cup of tea down on the table with a louder smack than he had intended.

‘It’s breaking me up,’ Brian whispered from out of the blue, though everyone could have predicted this confession to take place sooner or later. ‘I can’t handle this any longer. It’s so fucking hard, and watching that poor little thing helplessly trying to make sense out of the world around him without seeing anything at all… It breaks my heart every freaking day. I can’t even imagine what it must be like for him.’

‘I can’t either, dear. God, I had never imagined that this was something one of us would ever have to go through, let alone him…’ Freddie sighed, staring at the cup of tea in the palm of his hands.

‘It’s not that I don’t want to take care of him. I love him and I’d do _anything_ for him, but guiding him, looking after him, doing all of the house holding – cooking, cleaning, washing, ironing, all while constantly having to glance over my shoulder to see if Roger is still where I told him to stay at…’ Brian enumerated. ‘I love him, and I’m sorry to say that taking care of him is exhausting lately.’

‘We know that, Brian. We know you love him, and we know you’re doing all you can. You don’t have to apologise for anything,’ Freddie tried to comfort him.

‘But I feel so guilty. I should be taking care of him, and I _am_ , but It’s breaking me up. I don’t know what to do anymore-’

The moment those words left Brian’s lips, their conversation was interrupted by a short, sudden cry coming from the hallway, and after realising that John was in the kitchen to boil more water for a second round of tea, they deducted that it could be no one but Roger.

‘Oh fuck, _fuck_ , please don’t tell me anything’s happened to him,’ Brian cursed as he jumped up, practically running towards the door in his state of fear, Freddie following him close behind. Upon tearing the door to the hallway open, Brian felt a pang of guilt and helplessness passing his stomach when they found Roger lying on his front on the floor, which was probably the result of having tripped off the stairs, considering his position and the sound of someone falling just a second before. Roger was now splayed out all over the floor, dazedly blinking to make sense out of the situation, but he simply seemed to be too overwhelmed to really notice what was going on. Brian took advantage of this moment by instantly crouching down next to Roger and placing his hands under his armpits to lift him off the ground. These were the only times he was happy that Roger had lost a lot of weight; it sure made it easier to pick him up and sit him down on the second last tread of the stairs now that he was over twenty pounds lighter than before.

‘Oh, poor little thing! Did you fall off the stairs?’ Freddie asked, hand still covering his mouth. Roger, who stared into nothingness, just nodded his head absent-mindedly at the assumption.

‘Come here, sweetie. Let’s clean you up a little,’ Brian tried to distract Roger by picking up his hands, first left then right, to wipe the dust off of them. He noticed a few superficial yet painful looking scratches on the palms of both hands, and he bit down his bottom lip. How was it possible that he was looking after Roger twenty three hours and fifty-five minutes a day, and yet he hurt himself during those five minutes he’d lose track on him?

‘Roger, what were you doing here? You know you shouldn’t go up- or downstairs without me,’ Brian told him sternly – not to reprimand him for having done something he knew was better not to, but because he sincerely didn’t want Roger to hurt himself again.

Roger opened his mouth to say something, then closed it right after and simply shook his head. The initial shock that was accompanied by its usual numbness were starting to fade now, only to trade places with the more emotional side of shock; Roger’s eyes started to water, and before Brian knew it, his precious boyfriend was sobbing his heart out. Brian closed his eyes at just the sight of it; he couldn’t bear to see Roger crying, and especially not after something he was supposed to have protected him from.

‘Hush, baby, it’s alright. I’m here with you,’ Brian promised, deciding to let go of the question he wanted an answer to. It wouldn’t matter anyway why Roger had been in there alone; after having fallen down the stairs, he would probably think twice before doing it again. Pain had unfortunately always seemed to be the only way to teach Roger right; it was just that Brian couldn’t stand seeing his boyfriend cry because he hurt himself, now even less than before.

‘It _hurts_ , Brian,’ Roger squeaked, and Brian leant in to hug him, holding him tightly and protectively. As Roger threw his arms around Brian’s neck in response, and with this, pushed out the palms of his hands towards the people around him, the guitarist could hear Freddie gasp behind him.

‘He’s bleeding, Brian,’ Freddie gritted out, and Brian nodded against the crook between Roger’s jaw and shoulder.

‘I know. Could you go get a clean washcloth and a piece of bandage, please?’ Brian asked without looking up, completely absorbed in his eternal task of consoling Roger.

John returned with a wet towel and a roll of white bandage, which he shakily handed over to Brian. The guitarist told them once again that it wasn’t their fault, but he could sense that Freddie and John felt guilty about Roger having fallen down the stairs in their house. Brian attempted not to let his unbelievably high levels of stress shine through while trying to accomplish a whole lot of tasks all at the same time: his fingers working to secure the bandage around the palms of Roger’s hands, his brain spinning to answer John and Freddie’s worried questions, his teeth digging into the vulnerable skin of his bottom lip to keep himself from screaming, which was something he found himself wanting to do just about all the time lately.

‘So, that’s done,’ Brian eventually said once he had secured the bondage around the grazes on the palms of Roger’s hands. ‘Stay here with us now, okay?’ he told Roger, who nodded instantly. Brian rewarded him for his obedience by carefully grasping his pale face between both hands and giving him a kiss on his cheek. ‘Come, go to the kitchen, John will pour you a cup of tea,’ Brian encouraged him when Freddie gestured for him to join him in the living room. John, probably understanding the hint, took Roger’s hand in his own and guided him over to the kitchen while Freddie and Brian sat down on the sofa in the living room.

‘Brian, I’m worried about him. Has he tripped down the stairs before?’ Freddie asked right away, surprising Brian with his straight-forwardness, which was quite the opposite of the conversation they had had earlier that afternoon.

‘Almost, so my dad and I installed a stairgate at both the upper- and underside of the stairs,’ Brian said, then peered around to see if John and Roger, who were sitting at the kitchen table, weren’t paying attention to him. When it turned out that John seemed to be trying very hard to get Roger to focus on his cup of tea, Brian slumped down on the couch, sighed deeply and added quietly: ‘This is what I meant. I can’t leave him alone for even a second, because he will hurt himself one way or the other. He’ll burn himself, cut himself, trip over his own feet, walk into a door, hit his head against a kitchen cupboard or whatever. I’m constantly terrified of him hurting himself, so I’m always buzzing around him. And when I’m able to let go of him for a moment, something like this happens,’ Brian told Freddie, then buried his face in his hands. ‘Fuck, I should have looked after him better, I should-’

‘What you should have is some rest. Stay here tonight. We have a guest room, you can stay here and let us help you look after Roger,’ Freddie offered, but Brian dismissed the idea right away.

‘No, no, that’s very kind, but it won’t work. Roger still needs a shower, and he’s just starting to get used to ours, so I don’t want to mess that up by using someone else’s bathroom. By the way, I don’t have anything with me – toothbrushes, toothpaste, nightwear or anything,’ Brian said, deciding to leave out the stuffed animal Roger slept with ever since the accident.

‘Deaky just bought new toothbrushes the other day, and we haven’t used those yet. They’re still brand new and unopened. And you can borrow some of our pyjamas…’ Freddie proposed, but once he saw in Brian’s distant eyes that he was inconvincible, he started to respond to this before Brian could even speak his mind about the proposal. ‘Brian… Let us help. You’re not alone in this.’

‘I know. I just… It’s been a long and stressful day. Roger needs to go to bed, and he doesn’t sleep well lately, especially not when he’s away from home. And I… I just need to be alone with him. It’s not you, it’s us. _Me_ , I mean. I want to be alone with him,’ Brian blurted out rather incoherently.

‘I understand, but then at least stay over for dinner. To save you from having to cook and clean up and do the dishes afterwards,’ Freddie tried.

‘That’s very kind, but we’ll be going home now. I’m not really hungry, and Roger hardly eats at all lately, so we won’t be having dinner tonight. That saves a lot of work and time as well,’ Brian smiled a bit, but his heart wasn’t in it, especially not when Freddie turned the comment into a lecture.

‘Skipping meals isn’t good for you, Brian. You really need some nutrition, especially when you’re busy looking after Roger all day long,’ Freddie told him fatherly, before flashing a glance at Roger, who was sitting at the kitchen table, silently sipping from a cup of tea under the watchful eye of John. ‘And speaking of him; he _desperately_ needs to gain some weight. Come on, let us cook for you two.’

‘Freddie, we’re fine!’ Brian cried, and as he realised that no one would ever believe that, he quickly corrected himself. ‘We’re as fine as we can possibly be right now. Please don’t worry about us.’

Freddie looked hurt – _worried_ , most of all, but he nodded anyway,  probably trusting Brian to know what was best for them. Brian himself hoped even more so that he was doing the right thing by rejecting help and leaving all of a sudden.

‘Roger? We’re going home. Get you in bath and straight into bed afterwards,’ Brian ordered as he stood up, and Roger turned his head towards him, nodding obediently. Brian helped him to stand up and ushered him towards the hallway, Freddie and John following them close behind. Brian handed Roger his coat and watched as the drummer dragged the zipper of his coat up, after which he hooked his arm through Roger’s.

‘Say goodbye to Freddie and John, baby,’ Brian told Roger sweetly, yet there was a touch of impatience in his voice; a desire to leave as soon as possible. Roger could probably sense this, for he hastily leant in to hug both his friends and mumble a softly spoken goodbye to them.

‘Goodbye, guys, and thanks for everything. We’ll see you soon,’ Brian promised while opening the front door, but just as he wanted to step outside, a soft yet strong hand strong hand on his shoulder made him halt and turn around.

‘Promise me you call us tomorrow. Let us know how you two are doing.’

Freddie was standing right behind him, looking terrifyingly pale in the overhead lightning of the hallway of the house. It could also be the result of him having been around a miserable Roger and a worn-out, overprotective Brian; probably it was a combination of both factors.

‘I will,’ Brian promised aimlessly, and he could tell that this answer worried Freddie rather than that it reassured him.

Freddie leant closer to him before he spoke, and Brian instinctively knew that this a bad sign. ‘I’m not blind, Brian. I can tell you’re hurting. You’re doing a wonderful job with Roger, but you can’t do this on your own.’

‘I’m fine, Fred, and I can do this on my own,’ he said feebly.

‘You’re broken, dear, and you two need… you need _help_ ,’ Freddie whispered, the last part of the sentence interspersed by a dry sob, which was the last Brian could use now that he was on the verge of tears himself as well. ‘Please, don’t shut us out. We want to help you-’

‘ _Don’t_ make me cry in front of him,’ Brian warned him dangerously, biting back the tears as he looked over at his boyfriend. He couldn’t quite tell if Roger was hearing their quiet whispers or not; he surely must have noticed that something was going on, simply by the fact that they were still standing in the doorway of John and Freddie’s house instead of walking off to the car. ‘Don’t do this. You know he can’t handle it at the moment, Mercury,’ Brian added reproachfully, having to face away to prevent others from seeing his tears. He glanced at the sky above them; it was the same dark colour, free of clouds, and even contained the same amount of brightly shining stars as that one fatal night. Brian curled his hand into a fist, a fist he wished he could hit God or any kind of justice under the sky with for letting this happen to his dear Roger.

‘I’m sorry, Bri, but I can’t let you walk out like this, knowing all you just told me.’

‘You can, and you should. We’ll manage, Freddie, believe me.’ Then, when Freddie stared at him intensely, chewing on the inside of his cheek as if to judge if he should let him go or not, Brian added: ‘I promise I’ll call you tomorrow, and I promise we’ll eat something tonight.’

Freddie still didn’t seem too convinced, but after having given Roger a second, way longer lasting hug than the first time, and after having told him the importance of eating well and staying in touch with friends and family, the lead singer at last dismissed them, and Brian felt a wave of relief flowing through his veins when he finally walked out of the house, hand in hand with Roger, along the pavement, towards their car. He could still feel Freddie’s eyes burn right through his back when he opened the car door for Roger, and he was glad to close the door and walk over to the other side of the car, the side Freddie couldn’t see.

Brian sighed in relief when he got in the car, glad that neither Roger nor John or Freddie could see him when he crossed his arms over the steering wheel and rested his head on top of them, needing a moment to recover from the pressure he had felt all day long. Taking care of Roger, working in the studio for the first time again, pretending to be fine in front of the rest of the band, all while the lack of sleep, nutrition, and overall energy, was starting to take its toll on him. He just wanted everything to be over now – he wanted to rush home, get Roger and himself undressed and into bed, and then fall asleep and only wake up when all of this would be over. But that was also undoubtedly hardest of all of this – it would never be over. It was going to stay this way forever, and Brian didn’t know how much longer he could cope with the mental and physical effort the situation wanted him to sacrifice.

‘Brian?’ Roger asked after the silence and immovability of his boyfriend was starting to grow a little too long for his liking, and Brian nearly jumped up when Roger addressed him, quickly reaching out to first fasten Roger’s and then his own seatbelt.

‘Yes, baby, I’m still here. Let’s go home,’ Brian choked out, quickly starting the car, only allowing himself to sniff against the tears when the roaring sounds the engine produced made sure Roger couldn’t hear him. They drove into the chilly February evening; the roads were practically empty, given that the peak hour was long over, so they effortlessly drove through most parts of town.  Brian was glad that there weren’t many people out there, because he was afraid he was so tired that he actually wouldn’t be able concentrate on other traffic participants around him if they were there.

They didn’t say a word for a while, so when Brian felt the sudden touch of Roger’s thin, cold fingers enveloping his own on top of the gear stick, it almost startled him. Brian looked up from the horizon and glanced at Roger’s small hand on top of his. When Brian moved the stick forwards to upgrade, Roger’s hand smoothly followed his.

‘This is probably the closest I will ever come to driving again,’ Roger whispered numbly, and Brian’s grip around the gear stick tightened. Of course, he was surrounded by Roger’s disability all day and all night, but sometimes, it were the small, specific details that hit him hardest – like realising only now that Roger indeed was never going to be able to drive again, that he was never going to be able to simply jump in his car, start the engine and drive off to pick up a pack of sugar they had forgotten to buy at the store during a supermarket trip earlier that day, that he was never going to be able to drive the both of them to the studio when Brian was too tired to focus on the road early in the morning, that Brian could never simply take the front passenger seat and let Roger take him wherever he wanted to drive to, something they had always liked to do on those hot Sunday afternoons at the end of the summer.

‘I’ll always be here to drive you wherever you need to go,’ Brian answered, even though he knew bloody well that this wasn’t the same. Driving cars had always been Roger’s main interest for as long as he had known him, and to be reminded to the fact that it was never going to happen again, made Brian feel like someone had just ripped his heart out of his ribcage. He felt the tears welling up again and fought hard to oppress them, or at least keep them quiet, something he had trained himself to do over the last couple of months.

Despite his attempts, Roger still seemed to sense that something was wrong. ‘Are you crying?’ Roger suddenly asked in that soft, delicate voice of his, which made Brian tear up even more.

‘No,’ Brian lied, his voice sounding more stable and reassuring than he could have wished for. Sometimes he was happy that Roger was couldn’t see – _just_ for a second, _just_ so that he couldn’t perceive that Brian wiped the tears off his face by swiftly rubbing his cheek against the fabric clothing his shoulder. ‘I’m fine, darling. Nothing to worry about.’

They drove back home in silence, the feeling of their hands touching being enough to feel connected to each other. Brian knew it was going to be another hard evening and an equally painful night, but the moment he pulled Roger over the treshold of their house, he knew he had made the right decision; the days were something that could be shared with friends and family, but the evenings and nights were theirs alone. They always had been, and they would continue to be so now that Roger had permanently lost his eyesight, no matter how hard it was for Brian to look after him alone.

Brian closed and locked the door behind them, symbolically shutting the world out for the rest of the evening. At times, either his or Roger’s parents would drop by unannounced, but Brian wasn’t really in for visitors that night and prayed that everyone would just let them be.  

‘What time is it?’ Roger asked while trying to push a coat hanger into the armholes of both sleeves of the coat he had just discarded.

‘Half past six,’ Brian answered, carefully taking the both items out of Roger’s fingers and fixing the job himself, not exactly in the mood to let Roger fiddle around with the task at the moment. ‘Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?’ Brian asked, even though he already knew the answer Roger was going to wordlessly give him by shaking his head. As Roger did just this, Brian suggested going upstairs to take a bath, something Roger was always in for – he had always loved taking baths, and at the moment, it was one of the few things he could really enjoy, given that most of the other things he previously used to entertain himself with – watching TV, reading, driving – were simply impossible without eyesight.

In the bathroom, Brian turned on both the hot and cold water tap, checking the water with his fingertips to feel if the mixture of warm and cold was right, and adjusting the intensity of the taps when he found the substance to be too hot. Roger slowly started to undress himself in the meantime; he fiddled around with the buttons of his cardigan, threw his shirt over his head, and eventually clumsily discarded his jeans before sitting down on the stool Brian would sit down on once he had gotten into bath. Brian would never leave him on his own in the vicinity of water, fire, or other potentially dangerous substances, and though it made Roger feel like a little child every now and then, he knew Brian was only doing this because he wanted to protect him.

‘I think the water is ready,’ Brian said after a few minutes, and Roger nodded, discarding the last piece of underwear and stepping into the water. Brian rolled up his sleeves and pulled out the stool to sit next to the bath, dipping his hands into the rather lukewarm water. Both this, in combination with the goose bumps visible on the fair skin of Roger’s arms, made Brian realise that the temperature probably wasn’t quite right yet.

‘It’s a little cold, isn’t it?’ Brian assumed, and Roger looked at the direction out of which he could hear the voice coming, before he nodded weakly. Brian leant over to first pick Roger up under his armpits and move him over to the other side of the bathtub, before opening the hot water tap. Brian added some more soap to the bathwater and stirred the water with his hands to form the foamy, bubbly water Roger always used to like, and which was something he still did; a small smile formed on the drummer’s face when he felt the foamy layer of soap against his fingertips. Seeing that Roger was having one of those sporadic moments in which he actually seemed to be enjoying himself, Brian let him play around and discover his surroundings for a while. He handed him a sponge in the hope that he would start cleaning himself a little, but Roger turned out to have other plans. The sponge was soon floating around at the other side of the bath while the drummer was dragging his fingers through the dense layer of foam to create patterns that would vanish as soon as they had emerged. Brian smiled softly at his boyfriend’s nearly childish ways of amusing himself, and he picked up the sponge to softly start rubbing it along Roger’s arms, chest and back. When his partner started playing around with a couple of long-forgotten rubber ducks he had found while scanning the edge of the bathtub, Brian decided for real that leaving John and Freddie’s house to take care of Roger on his own had been a good decision – it might have been exhausting to look after a visually impaired person, but he wouldn’t have wanted to miss these small moments of joy for the world.

Brian proceeded to wash Roger’s body and the two of them shared a few words about trivialities, such as the temperature of the water and Roger’s question which soap Brian was using, before they fell into a comfortable silence again. When Roger discretely started yawning after about ten minutes, Brian’s protection senses started tingling, telling him that it was time to put an end to the bath session and bring Roger to bed. Brian was quick to wash Roger’s hair and carefully rub a sponge over his torso and arms, after which he dragged the plug out of the bath, knowing this was the only way to quickly get Roger out of bath.

Though Brian had managed to stay relatively dry throughout the whole bathing event, he didn’t even doubt for a second to rush in and ruin his clean clothes the moment he realised that Roger safely had to step out of the incredibly slippery bathtub and onto the also pretty smooth white tiled bathroom floor. With one arm around Roger’s torso and one to hold his legs, Brian lifted his naked boyfriend out of the bathtub and safely put him down on his feet on the other side without even thinking for a second about the way his previously dry clothes now stuck to his body due the amount of water they had been confronted with. They’d change into nightwear soon enough, and by the time the next morning would arrive, his shirt and jeans would be dry again.

Brian wrapped a towel around Roger’s shivering body and escorted him to the bedroom, where he sat him down on the bed and carefully rubbed him dry with the towel. Usually, Roger would try to do this himself as much as possible, but he seemed sleepy and absent-minded tonight, so Brian didn’t ask any questions and did it for him.

Once he had dressed Roger up for the night and put him in bed, Brian suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to brush his teeth. He glanced over at Roger, who had already snuggled into the duvets and had even closed his eyes for a change, and Brian didn’t have the heart to pull him out of bed now that he was lying there so nicely. On top of that, he had hardly eaten anything that day anyway, Brian told himself in an attempt to convince himself that it didn’t matter, and he simply left Roger in bed to try and fall asleep.

‘Roger? I’m going to get changed. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Do stay here, okay?’ Brian asked him, and he could see Roger nod slowly in response, fingers intertwining with the sheets below him, as if to have something to cling onto now that he was going to be alone for a moment.

Brian hurried over to the bathroom – and not just because he couldn’t leave Roger alone. He wanted to scream, he wanted to punch a wall, he wanted to throw a hairbrush against the mirror and watch the reflecting silver shatter into a million little pieces, just like that one night out had shattered their lives into a million little pieces. He wanted to let out all the anger, sadness and frustration of the past months, but he knew he couldn’t – Roger would undoubtedly hear it and start worrying about him. Brian was aware that he was the only source of stability in Roger’s life at the moment, and if he would lose his self-possession in his vicinity, it would probably _terrify_ his precious boyfriend, which was something Brian simply couldn’t do to him.

Therefore, Brian simply dug his finger nails in the palm of his hands and bit down his bottom lip while letting the tears stream down his face. It was unfair, it was so _fucking_ unfair that this had happened to Roger out of all possible people. Moments like these were the times when Brian could still see shards of the moment flashing before his eyes; the starry sky that surrounded them that night, the crowd of people gathering around the light source of what was supposed to be fun and joy. He could still hear the noise the joyous people around them made when the event was about to start. He could still feel the warmth of Roger’s back pressing against his chest on that cold November evening; he could still feel his own arms around Roger’s upper body. They had been so close, and yet they had been worlds apart the moment those sparks started to scatter around like lethal flakes of poison, shards of parts of lightning that had ironically extinguished the light in someone’s eyes.

 _It could have been me. It **should** have been me._ The thought circulated Brian’s mind until he could taste the ferruginous sensation of blood in his mouth, and only then he realised that he was still standing in the dimply lit bathroom and that he hadn’t done anything yet. He hadn’t washed his face, hadn’t undressed, hadn’t brushed his teeth or anything else. He cursed under his breath, listening closely to hear if he could hear Roger call his name or stumble around in the bedroom, like he would do when he was left alone for a longer time than he was used to. But luckily, Roger was still quiet, and Brian wiped the tears of grief and frustration off his face with a rough gesture of his hand. He splashed some cold water into his face in the hope that it would reduce the red, swollen skin around his eyes, but while he was in the middle of this process, it suddenly struck him that Roger wouldn’t detect this anyway, so he closed his eyes again, not even trying to oppress a second flood of tears from coming down again.

# # #

When Brian eventually stepped out of the bathroom and walked over to the bedroom, he saw Roger curled up in the blankets, his eyes closed, and for a moment, he was hoping that the younger man had already fallen asleep. Yet when he lay down next to him, Roger’s eyes fluttered open, and Brian knew that he had been staying awake, waiting for him to return.

‘Brian? Are you there?’ Roger asked again, just like he had done that morning, and Brian placed his hand on Roger’s.

‘Yes, I’m back, and I’ll stay here all night. I’ll still be here when you wake up again,’ he whispered at him, and with this, preceded the questions he knew Roger had been planning to ask him. Since the accident that had put him in this helpless position, Roger was terrified of being left alone. He was painfully aware of his vulnerability and of the fact that he couldn’t take care of himself anymore, so he needed constant confirmation that he wasn’t alone, that Brian was there with him, and that he wasn’t going to leave him. Brian still felt his heart skip a beat every time Roger asked him such questions, but he had to admit that it didn’t touch him the way it first did anymore, and he wasn’t sure if it was a positive or outright sad thing that he was starting to get used to the heart-breaking questions Roger’s anxiety caused him to ask.

‘Is there anything we have to do tomorrow?’ Roger whispered with a yawn, and Brian was glad that he could tell him that there wasn’t; Roger seemed way too tired for another social event right now.

‘No, we don’t. We’re just going to stay in bed late to catch up some sleep. Speaking of which…’ Brian said. ‘it’s time we go to sleep.’ He turned around to look at the alarm clock, and though it was only a few minutes past eight, he was glad that they were already in bed and ready to drift off.

It turned out that _he_ was the one to be ready to fall asleep, though, while Roger had other plans in mind for them. Just as Brian wanted to reach over to give Roger’s hair one more stroke and wish him a good night, Brian felt Roger pushing the blankets aside and crawl over to him on all fours, moving to kneel down beside him. Just as he wondered what was going on, he noticed  a shaky hand feeling around for something that turned out to be the hem of his underwear, which Roger tugged down quite effectively, much to Brian’s surprise; both his strength and the action itself overwhelmed him.

‘Roger?’ Brian asked him as he leant over to switch on the nightlight, indeed finding Roger kneeling next to him and staring straight at him. There was something shy about his expression, yet it had some kind of determination in it as well; whatever he wanted to do, he was resolute to carry it out. With this same determination, Roger pulled down his underwear even further, felt around with his fingers until they bumped up against Brian’s cock, which, though it had been completely limp before, gave a bit of a stir the moment it was touched by Roger’s cold yet skilled hands. Brian tried to prop himself up to discover what exactly Roger was trying to achieve, even though it was already all too obvious when Roger dived down to take him between his lips, giving Brian barely a second to get used to the feeling before instantly taking him down his throat, swallowing him whole.

‘Fuck, Roger!’ Brian gasped, wide eyes staring at the ceiling above his head when Roger took him in even deeper, his fingers threading themselves through the wet, blond tresses of Roger’s hair. Apart from this small movement, Brian was completely paralysed; he couldn’t do anything but trying not to scream while letting Roger do the things he turned out to still be amazing at. Though his hands were shaky and hesitant, his mouth, tongue, and lips were in perfect control, like they always had been. Roger’s fingers danced along the inside of his thighs, cautiously and shivery, but the feeling of his mouth sealed tightly around Brian’s now completely hard length in combination with his tongue flicking against the parts of his dick that weren’t too far down his throat to reach, made Brian feel ecstatic. He hissed through clenched teeth, trying not to press Roger down on him or do anything else that might come across too desperate, while in fact, Brian did feel desperate for release.

It struck him that he only realised now that he could very well use some sexual relief, after literal months of abstinence, and he suddenly couldn’t remember how he carried on all that time without some form of sex at all. If someone would have told him a year ago that Roger and he would go without sex for months, Brian probably would have called them a fool, while now, he couldn’t even recall how much time had passed since the last time they’d had sex, since they had last blown each other, or simply touched at all.

It never had seemed to be particularly hard not being physically close to Roger for a long time, simply because Brian viewed Roger as his patient rather than his intimate partner right now, but this current event reminded Brian that he had, in fact, missed it. He had successfully tried to shut out as much of his sexual needs, thoughts, and fantasies, among other emotions he didn’t want to show Roger in fear that they might be damaging to him in his state of vulnerability, but he was starting to feel the results of that now. It was as if all of the emotions he had bottled up for so long were starting to assault him all at once; the love he felt for Roger, the helplessness he felt towards the accident that he could not turn back, the hate he felt towards himself for not having been able to protect his boyfriend when it was most necessary, the nearly childlike feeling of misunderstanding, simply not being able to grasp the idea of this having happened to Roger, and last but not least, the sheer feeling of sexual frustration after months of abstinence. For just this once, Brian allowed himself to let down his walls and enjoy the moment without having to oppress all of his emotions; a frustrated groan escaped him, his eyes shut tightly, his fingers gripped tighter onto Roger’s locks of hair when the drummer vigorously continued to suck him off to the best of his abilities.

The end was soon upon Brian; he wanted to warn Roger, and he did manage to choke out something that was supposed to tell him that he was close, but he was already too far gone to be coherent; just a few more sucks from Roger was all it took for Brian to reach the point of no return, sucking air into parts of his lungs that weren’t used very frequently when he let go. Roger seemed to be a little shocked by the fact that Brian’s orgasm was so soon and so strong after a relatively short period of having had him in his mouth, but he nevertheless managed to swallow all his boyfriend had to offer him, obediently licking a still paralysed Brian clean afterwards.

‘Damnit, Roger!’ Brian sighed as he wiped the sweat off his forehead once he had gained back control over his body. Having sex was something they hadn’t done since the accident. They had always been too busy with other things – hospital visits, therapy, keeping in touch with concerned family and friends, and just the overall gloominess of the situation – to have picked up this part of their relationship again. Brian had thought about suggesting it multiple times, but every time they got into a situation that could possibly end up with sex, it just wasn’t right – when he found his boyfriend on all fours on the floor in front of the radio to helplessly find the right button to adjust the volume, every time he looked at his partner’s way too skinny naked body while he was taking a bath under his watchful eye, every time he lay down in bed next to Roger, curled up into his duvets, clutching at a previously long-forgotten stuffed animal to soothe the feeling of loneliness when he was on his own in the bedroom, Brian simply couldn’t get himself to ask such a selfish request of him. And just because Brian regarded sex to be something of the past, it shocked him so much that Roger had simply gotten down on his knees to suck him off as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

‘What did I do to deserve that?’ Brian pondered out loud.

‘Taking care of me at all times. I’m really… really thankful for that,’ Roger answered, insecurely fiddling around with a piece of the bedsheet. Brian could immediately sense in his body language that this generous act was not supposed to be reciprocated, not at the moment at least, so he simply pulled Roger closer.

‘There’s no need to thank me for that. I’m your boyfriend, it’s my job to look after you,’ Brian said.

‘Yeah, but not twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week,’ Roger said, then fell quiet for a few seconds, before he eventually spoke the truth about the unexpected yet very welcome favour he had done Brian. ‘I feel so guilty, because this wasn’t what you signed up for.’

This, in his turn, made Brian feel very guilty, since there clearly was nothing one could blame Roger for, let alone that he should feel the need to make up with Brian for what had happened to him.

‘But darling, there is nothing to feel guilty about! You can’t help having gone blind,’ Brian reminded him sweetly, brushing his long, thin fingers along Roger’s jawline.

‘Yeah, but the result is the same – you’re stuck with a disabled partner!’ Roger brought in, and Brian wasn’t surprised to see the first tears sparkling in his blue eyes. It had been a long, emotional day, and all the feelings were bound to come out at some point. In the presence of others, Roger usually managed pretty well to bottle up his feelings, but once they were on their own, he easily broke down. It actually surprised Brian that he had managed to keep everything inside for so long, given that the long hours in the studio hadn’t exactly been easy.

‘Oh, poor little angel… Come here,’ Brian hushed, pulling Roger in his lap. ‘You’re not disabled, darling,’ Brian tried in vain, repeatedly kissing Roger’s hair.

‘I couldn’t see you if you would be stand right in front of me, Brian. Don’t act like I’m not disabled,’ Roger mumbled gloomily, and Brian didn’t know how to react to this. He wished he would have come up with something to say, anything at all, when the silence that followed encouraged Roger to softly break away from him, crawl under the duvets again, and say: ‘You can leave if you want to, Bri. I can’t expect you to stay. You should make something of your life, and I’m just a burden to you like this.’

‘What? Of course I would never leave you!’ Brian answered as he followed Roger’s example of lying down to be closer to him. ‘I signed up for you, including everything that was part of the deal. You’re not a burden to me, you’re my partner, and I love you, blind or not,’ Brian hastily managed, before he had to take a second to recover from the shock of Roger just confiding to him that he felt like he was bothering him with his mere presence. ‘I love you. And if I could choose, I wouldn’t do it any differently.’

‘Really?’ Roger asked him, and Brian wiped the leftover tears off his cheeks.  

‘Really,’ he promised, before thinking better of it. ‘No wait, I would. I would’ve tied you up to a chair and locked the door and kept you inside the house until the sixth of November.’

Roger sighed deeply, snuggling closer into his pillow. ‘We shouldn’t’ve gone outside that night. We should have just watched the fireworks on TV.’

‘I know, but how were we supposed to foresee this? We went out to see the bonfire every year, and never, _ever_ have I seen or heard of something going wrong at Guy Fawkes Night,’ the guitarist reminded him.

‘Until I came along…’ Roger mumbled.

Brian, not really knowing what to say, crawled closer to Roger and carefully tuned him on his side to press their chests against each other, after which he threw an arm around Roger’s thin body. ‘I’m so, so sorry that this happened to you, Roggie. I should’ve protected you, I shouldn’t have allowed you to come that close to the fire, I should have…’

‘You shouldn’t blame yourself, you can’t help it. It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t’ve gotten so close. And now I have to learn to live with the consequences of being incautious,’ Roger whispered, and Brian could hear that he was fighting against the tears again.

‘It’s not anybody’s fault; it just happened. And now we’re going to learn how to live with it,’ Brian said confidently, determined not to make his precious boyfriend go through another emotional breakdown again – he’d already had enough of them that day. ‘You’re not alone, angel. I’ll be right next to you through everything. _Literally_ ,’ he added soon after. ‘Seriously, I’m going to hold you and guide you the way until you’ll get sick and tired of it,’ Brian snickered, and even Roger giggled a little.

‘I could never get sick and tired of you,’ Roger admitted, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, after which Brian pulled him even closer and enveloped him with his long, skinny arms.

‘I’m glad you don’t, because you’re stuck with me now,’ Brian smiled as he threw his arms closer around Roger, loving the delighted squeal Roger emitted when he kissed his face all over while tightly holding – capturing, that was – his boyfriend. ‘I’ve never left you to face the world on your own, and I certainly won’t do that now,’ Brian promised him as he released him from his strong grip, while still softly pressing him against his chest.

‘Being with you makes me feel safe, Bri, now even more than before I was blind,’ Roger whispered, then added even softer: ‘I’ve never felt so… _protected_ before. Thank you.’

Brian, knowing that it was impossible to hold his boyfriend even tighter or to crawl even closer to him, instead cradled him against his chest and pecked his forehead. ‘I’ve never felt this close to you before,’ he told him lovingly, watching as Roger tried his best – yet still failed – to oppress a yawn.

‘And I believe you’ve never felt this tired before,’ he concluded, and Roger nodded in agreement. ‘Go to sleep, baby. You need it,’ Brian encouraged him, pulling the duvets over their bodies and leaning over to tuck Roger in. When he laid down again, he saw that Roger had already closed his eyes and curled up into his favourite sleeping position, and he would have believed that his boyfriend had already fallen asleep if he hadn’t made it obvious that he was still aware by talking to him.

‘Brian?’ Roger mumbled.

‘Yes, darling?’

‘Thank you for persuading me to go to the studio today. It felt good to be back,’ Roger said, and Brian smiled softly.

‘It also felt really good to have our favourite drummer back. It might take some time, but I’m sure you’re going to do wonderfully,’ Brian promised.

The silence that filled the room for a moment made Brian fear that Roger was going to come up with a negative comment to him telling that he believed in him, given that his self-esteem was still very low, but he was glad to find Roger saying: ‘Thank you for believing in me. That means a lot to me.’

‘Just like you mean a lot to us,’ Brian answered, placing one last kiss on Roger’s cheek. ‘Come, it’s time to sleep. Sweet dreams, baby. I hope you’ll catch a glimpse of those cherry trees again,’ he said, unsure if Roger had still heard these words – he seemed to already be sleeping peacefully. Brian smiled softly at the sight of it, pulling the blankets a little tighter around his personal angel, hoping that his dreams could bring Roger back to the colourful worlds of the past, the beautiful sights the current reality could no longer provide him.


	3. Chapter 2

‘It’s been five days and we haven’t heard anything from them. Not a letter, not a visit, not even a _phone call_.’

Freddie was standing at the window of the living room, head leaning against the windowsill, absent-mindedly watching the ceaseless downfall of water rhythmically clattering against the windows. It had been raining all day without even a single break, and in combination with the untransparent clouds of fog that clung between the houses, trees, and everything in between, it gave the otherwise lively and colourful street on the other side of the window a gloomy atmosphere one would only expect to find in a cliché Liverpool suburb that had been taken straight out of a B-movie. Unfortunately, the London quarter they lived in seemed to look like that at the moment, which sure added up to the emptiness and loneliness Freddie had been feeling since the moment he had woken up that morning, only to find that nobody had phoned or sent a letter.

‘Brian promised to call the day after,’ Freddie mumbled, a slender finger following a droplet of water that made its tortuous way down the fogged up glass. The touch of desperation that filled his boyfriend’s voice was all John needed to hear to know that the lack of contact between Brian and Roger and them was starting to get on his nerves – and Freddie wasn’t the only one who worried about it. John had lost count, but Freddie could very well have been right when he said that it had been five days since the last time they had been in touch with Brian and Roger, and John sure remembered that Brian had promised to phone them the day after, just to let them know how they were doing.

It didn’t surprise John for a moment that their friend hadn’t phoned or contacted them in any other way, though. He could still see the blank expression on Brian’s face when Roger and he had left their house that evening; he could still hear Freddie desperately requesting to stay in touch, a request spoken to someone who was too far away in his own problems to even listen to it, let alone remember it and execute the order. And though Freddie had remained hopeful, deep down inside he too must have known that telephoning their friends about their currently awful conditions wasn’t exactly Brian’s favourite hobby. John sensed that Freddie knew he could expect Brian to actually call them, but this didn’t mean that his partner wasn’t worried about them; worried something happened to Roger, or Brian, or the both of them while they were all alone in their hose, locked away from the world, refusing contact or help from what Brian considered to be ‘outsiders’.

John, not able to stand the sight of Freddie standing there at the window to gaze outside without actually looking at anything, faced down at the two cups of tea he had just poured, but he didn’t dare to hope that Freddie’s favourite jasmine tea would cheer him up. He gave it a weak shot, though, feeling just as naïve as Freddie could be at times – like right now, with him finally understanding that Brian and Roger weren’t actually going to call them – when he handed him the cup.

‘Here, have a cup of tea,’ John said in an attempt to get his partner’s mind off the matter, even though he already knew that it wasn’t going to work. Once Freddie was thinking – _worrying_ , that was – about something, in particular something concerning his loved ones, he would not stop thinking about it before he had pondered about every possible scenario and solution, and preferably after having tried each one of the latter out, whenever possible. Trying to distract him only resulted in Freddie clinging onto the subject of thought even more.

Freddie accepted the cup John held in front of him with about as much enthusiasm as someone who had won an amount of exactly one pound in the national lottery. ‘This isn’t right, John. Brian promised me to call the day after,’ he repeated, aimlessly taking a sip of his still burning hot tea. He didn’t seem to mind the heat; he was too caught up in worry to even notice the feeling of hot water burning his lips. The look upon Freddie’s face was outright apathetic and empty, but after having dated him for years, John knew that Freddie would always try and keep his expression as blank as possible while thinking about subjects that actually touched him deeply, not wanting anyone to know what he was thinking about, even though the subject of thought was pretty clear to John.

‘They’re probably busy,’ John shrugged after a moment of silence, but he couldn’t even convince himself of it, let alone Freddie.

‘Busy doing what? Sitting at home and driving each other out of their minds?’ Freddie assumed a bit bitchier than he had probably intended, and John, knowing he was probably right anyway, sighed in agreement.

‘Probably,’ John mumbled in response, following Freddie’s example of staring at the desolate outside world. Everything seemed to look greyish, as if a fine layer of ash had come down and covered the street over the course of the night, while in fact, it was just the result of mist and rainfall that made the world look even more gloomy than it already was for them.

‘I’m sick of sitting here and waiting for a phone call or a letter or a visit that will never come. I’ve phoned him at least ten times as well, sent him a letter, a bloody telegram even, but he hasn’t responded to anything,’ Freddie growled, which did not surprise John any more after having registered his boyfriend’s hope, fear, worry, misunderstanding, anger, and despondency, all of which over the course of the last five days. The whole situation was starting to get on his nerves – and his mood – and John knew that Freddie couldn’t simply stay here and do nothing any longer.

‘So what do you suggest?’ John asked, knowing his boyfriend couldn’t stand sitting around and worrying about their best friends without doing anything about the situation. He didn’t receive and answer right away, nor was this needed; when Freddie disappeared to the hallway and returned with his coat loosely hanging on his slender body, John immediately understood the hint. That Freddie was going to drag him into the slightly stalkerish business as well, did not need to be explained either – just the act of Freddie standing in the doorway and holding the car keys in front of him, was all John needed to realise that he was going to have to come with him. His words just served to make sure to make sure John knew that the frontman was not in the mood for contradiction of any kind.

‘I strongly suggest we go check on them, right now.’

# # #

John had previously thought that it couldn’t possibly start raining harder, but he couldn’t have been more wrong; while being on their way to their friend’s place, the rain started to get more intense than John could remember for it to have done in a very long time. The windscreen wipers almost seemed useless; they fruitlessly moved from left to right and right to left over the car window while water kept pouring down from the heavens above them. John considered pausing for a moment, simply parking the car somewhere on the side of the road and wait until the heavy rainfall would cease, but judging by the dark grey colour of the sky, it wasn’t going to get better anywhere soon. On top of that, Freddie wasn’t exactly in the mood to patiently stop for fifteen minutes, only to probably later decide to just hit the road again because the rain wouldn’t stop anyway. So John just continued driving, trying to fulfill the impossible task of ignoring  the buckets of water falling loudly, endlessly from the sky, and instead focussing on the nearly invisible road before him.

It was both relief and discomfort John felt when he parked the car on the side of the road across from Brian and Roger’s house; relief, because they had made it all the way to their friends’ place without crashing the car or anything else within that range, yet at the same time discomfort, for he didn’t know in what state they were going to find their friends. All they could do was hope the couple was doing alright, but thinking about the way they had looked and acted the last time they’d seen them, in combination with the silence that had lasted a handful of days, made it pretty hard for John to remain hopeful they were doing alright. He managed to conceal this feeling pretty well, as did Freddie, who turned around in his seat, fumbled around on the backseat until he had found the umbrella. Together, they counted to three, before swinging the doors open and rushing out of the car, both trying to find shelter under the umbrella while rushing towards their destination as soon as possible to avoid getting completely soaked.

Hardly looking around to check the absence of traffic, they crossed the street, almost being out of breath by the time they stopped right in front of the house of their friends. Freddie didn’t flash John his half-shy, half-insecure look he would usually give him before he would ring someone’s doorbell; he pushed the small, white button as if his life depended on it. Only when he had repeated this movement twice, he took a step back and looked at John with the aforementioned expression on his face, together waiting for someone to answer their call.

Nothing happened at first, and as John peered around to see if he could detect anyone inside the house, he found that the windows were closed, distracting whatever kind of scenes were going on in the small London home from their view. They did, however, hear people speak to each other, words they could not make out, eventually followed by footsteps into their direction. Someone fiddled around at the other side of the door, probably trying to fit the key into the keyhole, after which the door was slowly opened, inch by inch, a pair of brown eyes carefully peeking around it.

‘We’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses, darling, you don’t have to be this vigilant,’ Freddie remarked wittily, but it was immediately clear to them that Brian wasn’t in for jokes; in fact, he looked like he was closer to crying than to smiling. John took the opportunity of the guitarist dazedly blinking at them to scan his eyes over Brian’s body, and he unfortunately had to conclude that he hadn’t seen Brian look this bad since the time he had been down with the flue for two weeks straight back in seventy-two. His hair was all tangled up and uncombed, his complexion resembled that of a sheet, and his eyes looked simply tired, constantly blinking against the sleep. The stubble on his face revealed that he hadn’t shaved in days, nor changed his clothes in a probably even longer time; the white shirt he wore clung to his body not only by the tightness of the fabric, but also by the many stains covering it.

Brian opened his mouth to probably say something, but then closed it right after, continuing to stare at his friends. He seemed overwhelmed by their very presence; needless to say, he hadn’t expected them to show up at his doorstep, though he could have known they would take measures after not hearing from him for a worrisome amount of time. He seemed a bit hesitant, not knowing what to say, and if it hadn’t been for Roger, the silence from their side would have lasted even longer.

‘Brian? Is there someone at the door?’

The voice of their drummer filled the room, and Brian cleared his throat before speaking. His words were undoubtedly meant for Roger, but with the softness and weakness he spoke, John and Freddie were positive his boyfriend could never have heard them.

‘Yes, it’s… John and Freddie are here,’ Brian answered, numb surprise audible in his voice, as if he still couldn’t grasp the fact that they had unexpectedly shown up.

‘We are, and we were just starting to wonder if we would have to stand here in the rain all day long, or if we were allowed to come inside,’ Freddie winked, and Brian pressed his eyelids close, shaking his head in confusion.

‘Sorry. Not fully awake yet,’ he apologised, which seemed highly plausible in his situation, before he stepped aside and let the unexpected visitors enter the house.

# # #

‘So. It’s, eh… nice to have you over,’ Brian started stiffly when they had all sat down in the rather untidy looking living room, awkwardly looking away from each other. It turned out that right from the start, none of them knew exactly what to say. Though the questions at Freddie and John’s side had accumulated rapidly over the course of the last five days, and though they had spoken a lot about their friends between the two of them, they now didn’t know where to start; they simply looked at the person they had been wanting to talk to, hoping he would start explaining why he hadn’t stuck to the promise they made, but instead of that, Brian remained silent after this one polite yet insincere opening sentence.

‘Well, it’s good to see you again, too,’ Freddie politely remarked, flashing Brian a bit of a smile, but both John and the owner of the house could see that he was more caught up in the messy state of the room they had been escorted to; plates and cups stacked on the table, TV magazines and newspapers spread out over the floor, piles of unwashed and unfolded laundry on the sofa, a fine layer of dust covering the whole scene, as if the place hadn’t been dusted off properly in weeks.

Brian coughed a little uneasily, discretely trying to push an empty milk carton under the sofa they were sitting on with his foot. ‘I do apologise for the mess. I haven’t really… had the time, you know…’

‘It’s okay,’ John comforted him, but he could have known that Freddie, direct and straightforward as he was, saw a perfect opportunity to now start the conversation they had really come for instead of the small talk they had been occupying themselves with until then.

‘The mess isn’t the thing you have to apologise for,’ Freddie mingled into the conversation, catching the attention of Brian, the person he had aimed for and who he was now looking at with a pretty severe expression on his face. His words were sharp, but not unkind; they sounded perfectly controlled, thought-out, _inviting_ even. Inviting to just calmly tell him why he hadn’t stuck to their promise. Freddie wasn’t mad; he just wanted to hear the answers he had been hoping to get way earlier, without having to drive over to Brian’s place after five days of silence.

‘Still,’ Brian started, ‘I am sorry that you have to witness this chaos. My plan was to start cleaning yesterday, but then… You know, things happened,’ he mumbled, voice trailing down, eyes focussing on his nails. Freddie frowned a bit. He knew that his friend had sensed the meaning behind that remark; Brian might have been exhausted and was not as shrewd as he normally could have been, but he certainly wouldn’t miss such an obvious hint. It seemed like he was just avoiding the subject on purpose, not wanting to be confronted with his own negligence.

‘Brian, it doesn’t matter to me that there’s some laundry on the sofa and a few cups of undrunk tea on the table,’ Freddie told him, ‘I would much rather hear from you-’

‘Tea, that’s it! I was going to make you some tea, but I forgot to put the kettle on the stove. I’ll go do that right now. What flavour would you like?’ Brian blurted out incoherently, obviously relieved that he had found a way to break away from the conversation. He had already jumped up from his seat on the sofa, ready to leave the living room and probably take a deep breath before coming back, but Freddie didn’t give in to his defeat that easily.

‘I’ll come with you to select something,’ Freddie said a little too brightly as he got up as well, obviously planning to discuss something completely different than tea flavours.

‘No, you’re my guest, you should stay here and make yourself comfortable…’ Brian tried, but Freddie had already grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the kitchen, leaving their boyfriends behind.

John, now alone in the silent living room with Roger, took the opportunity to check out the blind drummer, just like he had done with Brian whilst they had been standing at the front door. He was sorry to conclude that Roger didn’t look much better than Brian; his hair was naturally messy, so this wasn’t a good indicator to decide whether or not he was doing fine, but it seemed like he also hadn’t shaven in days, which was highly unusual for him. His complexion was pale, making the black circles around his eyes pop out even more. But what really struck John, now even more than the last time he had seen  his friend, was how thin he was; though Roger had curled himself up on the corner of the sofa, arms wrapped around his knees, John could still clearly see in his face, arms, and torso that he had lost a lot of weight. Roger took ‘skinny’ to a whole new level; his arms were willowy thin, his cheeks had thinned out drastically, and if he had ever had somewhat of a tummy, it had completely vanished over the course of the last months. His overall weight loss made him look fragile, and the fact that he was just sitting there on the couch, staring into nothingness, not having said more than a few words so far, wasn’t exactly make him look any stronger, neither mentally nor physically.

John, suddenly realising that he had been staring at Roger, ashamedly looked away. He knew that Roger couldn’t see it anyway, but it just felt _wrong_ ; it felt unfair to John to look at Roger so intently that he could almost figure out his blood type, while the drummer couldn’t even do as much as glance back at him. John coughed softly in uneasiness, unfortunately making Roger move his head to face his direction. John wondered if Roger could sense that he was being looked at; he knew Freddie and Brian had gone to the kitchen, making them the only two left in the room, and since they weren’t talking, the most logical thing to assume was that John was indeed checking him out.

Just when he was about to say something to Roger, something trivial just to break the silence, he was distracted by Freddie and Brian’s voices coming from the kitchen. It started with worried questions, reciprocated by curt answers, which on their turn received daring responses.

_‘I can tell you’re tired.’_

_‘I’m not. I slept well last night.’_

_‘Are you sure of that?’_

_‘Completely.’_

_‘Don’t lie to me, Brian. You look exhausted and Roger even more so.’_

_‘He’s doing fine, believe me.’_

_‘Is he? I’d rather hear from him how he’s feeling.’_

_‘Don’t bother him with such questions, Freddie. The last thing he needs is people interfering with him all the time.’_

_‘Like you do, you mean?’_

‘I hope they’ll pick lemon tea for me,’ Roger suddenly said, a little bit too cheery to hide the fact that he was just making this random remark to distract the two of them from the tensed discussion going on in the kitchen. ‘It’s my favourite flavour...’ Roger added a little awkwardly, starting to fiddle around with an old newspaper lying on the handrail of the sofa, probably knowing that this conversation was going nowhere.

‘Maybe they will. Lemon tea is nice, after all,’ John answered just as uneasily, and he wasn’t sure if he had to be glad or not to see the two previously arguing men returning to the living room. Brian carried a tray with four cups of tea, which he divided between the band, serving Roger last.

‘I’ve put your tea right in front of you, dear,’ Brian said when he had put it down at this exact place.

‘Is it lemon tea?’ Roger asked hopefully.

‘No, it’s… strawberry, I think. I’m not really sure. You’ll like it,’ Brian added these last three words a little impatiently when he saw Roger looking rather sceptical after hearing that it was strawberry tea. He was not exactly in the mood to run back to the kitchen and fix his partner another cup of tea - which was audible in his voice, for Roger didn’t even try to arrange something else.

‘You’re probably right. Can I drink it yet?’ Roger asked, not awaiting Brian’s answer and already reaching forward to feel for his cup of tea, which unfortunately turned out to be a little closer than expected, and worse than that, it turned out to still be way too hot; Roger gasped in alarm when he touched the porcelain cup, before pulling his hand away. As if the unexpected and painful feeling of the burning hot cup against his cold fingers wasn’t enough to draw tears to his eyes, Brian for some reason felt the need to add up to the element of unpleasant surprise by grabbing Roger’s wrist and giving him a firm rap on the knuckles to punish him for being incautious.

‘That’s what happens when you don’t listen to me,’ Brian said. Though it didn’t sound triumphantly or mockingly, but more like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown, Freddie couldn’t help wanting to make clear to the guitarist that this was not the right way to treat Roger, no matter how tired he was. Freddie coughed meaningfully to attract Brian’s attention without making Roger know about this secret contact. Brian immediately looked up at his friend, and upon finding Freddie giving him a stern glance, he shamefully looked down.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled hardly audibly, and Freddie nodded in understanding. He was pretty sure Brian hadn’t meant to hurt or scare Roger – he was just trying to cope with the feeling of despondency caused by what Brian probably thought was yet another failure of trying to protect Roger from the dangers of his surroundings. This assumption was backed up by Brian clumsily excusing himself and pacing over to the kitchen, feverishly looking for something to relieve the burn with. In the meantime, Freddie say down next to a still miserable looking Roger and stroked his back in a fruitless attempt to comfort him. Brian soon returned with a soaked paper towel and pressed it against Roger’s red fingertips, eyes fluttering close when Roger hissed to the cold feeling of water against burnt skin.

‘It might be sensitive for a while, but it’ll be alright,’ Brian said softly, before clearing his throat and sternly, almost tiredly saying, as if it was something he had to repeat twenty times a day – which he probably had to indeed: ‘Roger, I’ve told you many times before that you have to be more careful with hot things, haven’t I?’

‘I’m sorry,’ Roger whispered, and Brian sighed in compassion. He couldn’t be mad at his boyfriend for longer than approximately three seconds; he never had been able to stay angry with him the moment those sad, blue eyes looked into his, let alone now that those eyes didn’t serve any purpose than showing off Roger’s misery.

‘Just be careful next time around. Now sit back and wait until I tell you you can drink it,’ Brian told him fatherly, and Roger nodded, leaning back on the sofa, not seeing how Brian covered his face in his hands and rubbed his temples with his fingertips before picking up the rather tensed conversation again. Freddie was glad that Roger didn’t have to see his boyfriend any longer; he could still recall how worried Roger used to be when Brian would do as much as bite down his lip or sigh a little louder than usual… If he was to see Brian like this, face buried in his hands and on the edge of what seemed to be a nervous breakdown, he would probably be lost for real.

‘Okay then,’ Brian said and removed his hands from his forehead. ‘Okay. So, eh, did you guys watch football last night?’

‘There wasn’t any football on TV last night, Brian. Try again,’ Freddie said, indirectly telling him that it was time to cut the bullshit and move on for the thing they all knew they had come for: a decent conversation about why he hadn’t telephoned, how Roger and he were doing, and how the other couple could help them out. Unfortunately, Brian didn’t exactly seem to be willing to speak about it – he avoided Freddie and John’s intense stares, ignored them pointing at Roger to wordlessly ask if he didn’t want to discuss anything with him around, and tried to keep the conversation going at all costs, despite being the only one. No one else was willing to join him; Freddie kept trying to broach the questions he had been wanting to be answered all along, John tried to assist him in this, and Roger hardly seemed to dare to speak at all, apart from sometimes quietly agreeing with one of Brian’s meaningless attempts to avoid these tough subjects.

The tension in the living room was so strong that it was almost _tangible;_ Freddie was sure they could all feel the uneasiness of not getting to speak about the things that had to be spoken of. It was Roger who eventually broke the awful conversation that had turned into silence more than a few times, and Freddie wasn’t sure if he asked this specific question because he really wanted to go for a smoke or if he just wanted to escape the awkward atmosphere of the living room.

‘Bri? Can I have a cigarette?’ Roger asked softly.

‘Not during tea. Maybe later,’ Brian told him.

‘When is later?’ Roger asked, sounding like a dissatisfied toddler who couldn’t estimate the duration of an indefinite period in time, and wanted to know exactly when something was going to happen.

‘Tonight, if you behave.’

‘Please, can’t I have one now? I haven’t smoked in two days,’ Roger tried, looking hopefully at his boyfriend, who did not react. ‘Please Bri, just one? I promise I’ll behave for the rest of the day.’

‘Quiet, Roger. Drink your tea,’ Brian ordered aimlessly, pointing at his boyfriend’s cup before he could even realise that Roger wouldn’t see this anyway.

‘I don’t want tea, I just want-’

‘Enough, Roger!’ Brian suddenly shouted. ‘Get on your knees on the floor and drink your tea, _now_ ,’ he added angrily, and Roger nearly flinched at just the sound of his harsh voice. _It was a good thing that he is blind,_ Freddie thought dimly, _because the angry look upon Brian’s face might have made him start crying in his current state of vulnerability._ Roger, probably not wanting to make things worse, quickly crawled off the sofa and settled down on his knees in front of the table, carefully feeling around on the table leaf for his cup of tea. It was John who leant forwards to hand the cup over to the blind drummer, who thanked him quietly and obediently yet visibly shakily took a sip of the still burning hot liquid, immediately biting down his bottom lip. Brian didn’t even seem to notice this; he was too busy folding his arms over his chest and reproachfully muttering: ‘And you’re not getting to smoke tonight after this.’

‘But Brian-’ Roger started to object again, but Brian didn’t let him.

‘I told you to be quiet!’ Brian interrupted Roger so directly and unkindly that it startled Roger, and made him lose his grip on the cup of tea. He gave a short but high-pitched cry when the hot liquid came in touch with his torso, making the three men around him look up at once.

‘Roger!’ Freddie cried when after a split second of tracing the wet stain and the sudden disappearing of the cup, he realised what had happened, covering his mouth with his hand. Roger was helplessly feeling around for the cup of tea he had been holding before, which – including its contents – had fallen all over his shirt. Brian, on the other hand, was more concerned about the hot liquid that was dripping down the wet stain on the height of Roger’s chest, and he hurried over to remove the fallen cup from his boyfriend’s lap and instantly started tearing the buttons of his shirt open.

‘Damnit, Roger, this tea is hot! Did you hurt yourself?’ Brian asked.

‘I… I don’t think… I don’t know,’ Roger whispered, but Brian could see the tears filling the corners of his eyes, and he himself had to blink against the tears of frustration and guilt. He had never meant to shout at Roger, but he had lost his patience and self-control for a moment, and he – or Roger, rather – had immediately been punished for this. Brian was angry at the world and everything and everyone around it, but most of all, he was angry at himself. He hated himself for losing his patience, for getting angry at Roger, and for having failed to protect his boyfriend yet another time. It was so bloody unfair to Roger; he didn’t deserve any more pain, any more misery, any more of this fucking blindness that had ruined the life they used to lead, and yet they were reminded of it every single moment of the day by moments like these.

Freddie saw that Brian’s hands were trembling, so he stood up and got down on the floor next to him, softly pushing against his shoulder to indicate that he had to move away. Brian didn’t let him and stubbornly refused to let go of the button he was trying to push through the small hole of the fabric, but when Freddie’s lean and most of all solid fingers grasped both parts of the shirt and effortlessly opened the buttons, Brian had to admit his loss.

‘Let me do it, darling,’ Freddie said. ‘Why don’t you go get him a clean shirt?’ he suggested, and Brian nodded despondently, running upstairs and soon returning with a clean, spotlessly white shirt that probably wasn’t going to remain that exact colour for a very long time. Roger shrugged the old shirt off his shoulders, and Freddie almost had to look away when it turned out that he could practically count every pair of ribs on Roger’s torso. Brian, probably seeing the other couple’s stares, coughed uneasily and quickly proceeded to pull the clean shirt over Roger’s head and down to his waist, distracting his torso from the others’ view.

‘We’re working on it. He’s just not very keen on eating lately,’ Brian told them quietly, then shook his head in helplessness. ‘I can’t even undo his shirt without messing up. What kind of boyfriend am I?’ he then mumbled, which was the last thing Freddie needed to hear to decide that he needed a word with the guitarist.

‘Roger, why don’t you go outside with John for a smoke?’ Freddie suggested, but even though Brian felt guilty about having caused Roger to burn himself, he didn’t want to give in to his request of having one of those dreaded cigarettes.

‘I just told you, he’s not getting a cigarette today-’

‘Don’t be stupid, dear, he didn’t do anything wrong,’ Freddie answered.

Brian, knowing he wasn’t going to win that discussion, narrowed his eyes and simply stated: ‘The weather is awful and I don’t want him to go outside right now. There’s no need for him to smoke anyway. It’s not good for him.’

‘They can stay in the kitchen or in the shed instead of outside. It might give him some peace of mind, and we all know he can use that well right now. Where are his cigs?’ Freddie asked insistently, and Brian, not wanting to make a fuss over a smoke, begrudgingly nodded towards the bookshelf. Freddie produced a metallic lighter and a small, crumpled package of Marlboro’s from behind a stack of long-forgotten dentistry books, and took one cigarette out of the rectangular red and white box. He threw the lighter at John, who skilfully caught the small device, before he walked to Roger.

‘Here’s your cigarette, dear,’ Freddie said as he picked up Roger’s hand and placed the small treasure in the palm of it. ‘Go outside with John for a smoke.’

‘But Brian said…’ Roger whispered at him, sounding more than just a little distressed and nervous.

‘That doesn’t matter – _I’m_ saying that you can have a cig. You deserve it,’ Freddie told him as he closed Roger’s fingers over the thin white stick lying in the palm of his hand.

‘Brian?’ Roger asked insecurely, and Brian sighed. He undoubtedly wanted to tell him no, but when he received a meaningful glance from Freddie, he ended up begrudgingly agreeing.

‘Go on, dear. Follow John, I gave him the lighter,’ Freddie said sweetly to Roger, who continued to look a little doubtful, even when John guided him out of the room.

‘So, maybe you can tell me what’s been going on without Roger and Deaky around,’ Freddie said and plumped down on the sofa once  the two were out of sight and probably also out of the house, judging by the sound of the back door opening- and closing right after.

‘Freddie, I’m saying this right away, I’m _not_ in the mood to be lectured by you,’ Brian gritted.

‘I’m not here to lecture you, Brian, I’m here to help you,’ Freddie leant in towards his friend to close the space between them, which unfortunately only seemed to make Brian grow more distant.

‘I don’t need help. What would I need help for?’ Brian said just a little too quickly.

‘Gee, what could you possibly need help for after obsessing over your blind boyfriend for months?’ Freddie rolled his eyes, before picking up the conversation in an even more serious voice than before. ‘You need help to take care of Roger. You’re only behaving like this because you’re exhausted of looking after him day and night.’

‘Behave like what?’

‘Like the most insufferable bastard, my dear,’ Freddie answered not even unkindly, which Brian found to be rather contradictive. ‘You’re overly irritable and constantly overreacting about the smallest things.’

‘I’m _not_ -’ Brian started, before he decided that there was no use denying; if he would make a fuss about Freddie telling him that he was overreacting, it would have been a _contradictio in termini_ – he would be overreacting about someone telling him he was overreacting. ‘Okay, I might overreact every now and then, and I might be a bit overprotective of Roger,’ he confessed, then immediately added insistently: ‘But I’m doing this because I love him.’

‘I know you do. But he’s a grown man, and though I know he can’t get by on his own, I’m sure he’s capable of doing more than you think. Hanging around him all day is wearing you out and it doesn’t save either of you from incidents, as we’ve seen today,’ Freddie said, which seemed to piss Brian off.

‘Freddie, if this is a disguised attempt to try and mess up the habits we’ve established to get by, just because _you_ think that might work, I can tell you right away that I’m not in for any of it.’

‘It’s funny how you’re immediately completely overreacting again. And I don’t think this is the best moment to say this, but knowing you, there will never be a right moment to say it, so I’m going to say this anyway. What you need to calm down is a little time away from him.’

‘What? Are you crazy? I’m not leaving him!’ Brian spat out, as if Freddie had just insulted his whole line of ancestors dating back to the thirteenth century.

‘Of course you’re not. I meant just for the daytime. I think you should send him back to school.’

‘School?’ Brian repeated mockingly. ‘He’s twenty-five years old, Fred. The time of maths and social studies with a bunch of seventeen year olds is over,’ he reminded him.

‘Not to high school, you silly,’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about it, and knowing that Roger won’t ever… get better, as to say so, he’ll need to adapt to this lifestyle. He has to learn braille to read and write again.’

‘Learn… braille?’ Brian asked a little sceptically.

‘Yes, braille. You know what that is, right?’ Freddie inquired.

‘Yes, yes, of course I know. Embossed printing, dots that represent letters so you can feel the words instead of seeing them,’ Brian hastily but correctly recited, but his heart wasn’t in his answer – he was staring at some random point in the distance since Freddie had brought up the subject of the tangible alphabet.

‘What is it? Don’t you think it’s a good idea for Roger to learn braille?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, no, it’s certainly a good idea,’ Brian answered blankly – his thoughts seemed to be a million miles away again. ‘I just hadn’t thought about it yet.’

‘Really?’ Freddie asked in disbelief.  ‘I thought it must have crossed your mind at some moment in time during the past months. He’s been blind for…  It’s March now, and it happened at the beginning of November. It’s been over four months already.’

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘Just never thought about it.’

‘Have you really never thought about it? Did nobody at the hospital or at therapy bring it up?’ Freddie continued to question, which at last seemed to have an effect on the guitarist.

‘Alright then, they did,’ Brian finally admitted with a sigh. ‘But I pushed it away.’

‘Why?’ Freddie asked softly, leaning forward to Brian.

‘Because… I wasn’t really believing that this was going to be a permanent thing. Roger’s never had any visual problems, and then suddenly the doctors tell you that he’ll never catch a glimpse of daylight again. It was so surreal…’ Brian’s voice died out, and Freddie could see the tears starting to collect in the corners of his eyes.

‘It’s okay, Brian, I understand that you pushed it away,’ Freddie answered, putting his hand on Brian’s. ‘But that won’t change the situation – Roger is blind and he will stay like this for the rest of his life,’ he told him, knowing it was hard for Brian to hear this, but that it was about time to accept the way their lives had turned out after that one fatal night. ‘He won’t recover from this. It’s time to face reality.’

‘I don’t _want_ to face reality!’ Brian suddenly sneered, but his expression softened when he saw that Freddie instinctively backed away from him. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shout at you,’ he said, sincerely looking sorry for having done so, yet not able to oppress his feelings any longer. ‘I just can’t grasp the concept of him never seeing anything again all because of that one stupid night out, Goddamnit!’ Brian shouted, this time letting the tears of frustration and grief run down his cheeks. He didn’t even pull away when Freddie leant in closer and held Brian’s hands in his own, resting their foreheads against each other, murmuring some comforting words at him that Brian couldn’t quite make out. All he could think about was his grief about the things that had happened to Roger, until they were soon after interrupted by the inevitable return of their boyfriends.

‘We’re back!’ John announced, his cheerful expression vanishing when he saw Freddie holding Brian’s hands in between his own while the guitarist kept his head down. He had no idea what was going on, and the half-hearted smile that Freddie flashed him didn’t quite comfort the bassist.

The sudden silence around him seemed to make Roger understand that there was something going on. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked. ‘If it’s the smoking… I’m sorry, Brian,’ he whispered insecurely, and one look at his self-conscious looking face was all it took for Brian to completely forget about the incident with the cigarette and even about the other problems he had been walking around with for way too long. Roger needed him now, so it was time to suck up whatever things he was dealing with and turn to his partner.

‘Of course not, baby,’ Brian sniffed, praying that Roger wouldn’t hear that he had been crying. ‘Freddie was right – you deserved a cigarette. But I think it’s time for some sleep now, isn’t it?’ he asked, looking at Freddie, who nodded at him, understanding that he needed a little more time alone with him to talk without Roger.

‘I’m not really tired,’ Roger said, naturally not seeing the meaningful glance the others in the room shared, but Brian’s answer made him realise that he had to leave for a reason that probably had something to do with having been sent out of the house for a smoke just minutes before.

‘Come, I’ll bring you upstairs,’ Brian offered insistently, making it clear to Roger that he was not supposed to contradict him, which he didn’t indeed; he stood up and let Brian guide him upstairs and to their bedroom, perfectly cooperating when Brian sat him down on the bed and helped him pull of the clean shirt he hadn’t been wearing for more than fifteen minutes. He didn’t say a word until he was sitting on his side of the mattress beneath the thick layer of duvets, ready to lie down and try to fall asleep for a nap that he could probably use very well. Brian hoped he would be able to sleep with all the noise the ceaseless rain falling down from the skies was producing; it clattered against the roof tiles, rattled against the windows, filled the space around them.

‘Why do I have to sleep?’ Roger suddenly asked, making Brian, who was facing the other way while folding up his clothes, turn around to look at him. Dressed in just his underwear, his willowy thin fingers clutching at the duvets, Roger looked even more fragile than usual, and Brian felt the sudden urge to tuck him in, to hide that emaciated body from the chilly air in their bedroom, and most of all, from his own eyes, because he simply couldn’t look at the sight of it any longer.

‘Freddie and I need to talk for a while,’ Brian answered as he sat down on the mattress next to Roger, softly pushing his shoulders back against the mattress and covering him with a blanket.

‘About me?’ Roger guessed.

‘Among other things, indeed,’ Brian said after having thought for a second. It would be implausible to tell Roger that they wouldn’t talk about him, but Brian didn’t want him to worry, so he opted for something in the middle. ‘But there’s nothing you have to worry about. Look, here’s your bunny,’ Brian tried as to distract his boyfriend by handing him his favourite stuffed animal that dated back from his childhood, hoping it would comfort him somewhat.

Roger clutched tightly onto the toy, but he did not seem to be comforted by its presence even the slightest, as could have been expected. He might not have been able to see, or having been around to hear what was happening, but he could sense that something was wrong. ‘Freddie’s worried about us, isn’t he?’ he asked.

‘He probably is, but I’ll tell him we’re alright. Aren’t we?’ Brian asked, his voice a bit too optimistic for the situation being, but Roger nodded anyway. It didn’t seem to be too sincere, though; it seemed more like he agreed out of obedience, out of not wanting to disagree with the person he was around all day. Brian bit his lip a little awkwardly, not exactly knowing what to think about this development, but ultimately decided that this was not the right moment to go on about Roger’s slavish reaction. ‘Sleep tight. I’ll be right downstairs when you need me,’ Brian said while stroking Roger’s hair a few times, watching his partner curl up in bed and snuggle closer into the pillow. Brian walked out of the room and left the door ajar, knowing Roger used to prefer it that way. Only when he was on his way downstairs, he remembered that Roger only ever wanted this so he could see the light from the corridor shining through the narrow opening of the door, which meant that there now wasn’t any use in leaving the door open.

Being too tired both mentally and physically to go back and shut the door, Brian treaded down the last steps of the stair, and walked into the living room again. ‘So, he’ll be quiet for the upcoming few hours,’ he announced with a bit of a fake smile, slumping down on the couch again.

‘Oh, but we won’t be needing hours for this. All I want to tell you is that I went to the city hall the other day to ask what the options were, and they gave me this,’ Freddie said as he dived into his bag and pulled out a slightly crumpled flyer, which he handed over to Brian. The guitarist took the paper from Freddie’s hands and quickly looked it over.

‘The RLSB?’ he asked, frowning a bit at the abbreviation of an organisation he was not familiar with.

‘Royal London Society for Blind People. They offer braille courses to people of all ages, also when they got blind later in life. They’ll start with individual courses to teach him the basic skills in braille, and when he can read properly, he can join a small class of people who are also advanced in braille,’ Freddie tried to inform him as neutral as he could, but Brian could hear the excitement in his voice. ‘This is a great opportunity to help him get back his independence, give him something to do, and to maybe give you some time on your own while he’s there.’

‘I see,’ Brian said, not quite knowing what to think about the plan yet. ‘How often are these courses?’ he asked, taking a better look at the flyer on which a picture of the building, a classroom, a few smartly dressed men and women who he supposed were managers or teachers, a short story about the history and goal of the institution, and some address details were being displayed. It looked pretty professional and yet at the same time welcoming to him, and for a moment, he wondered if this could actually be somewhat of a solution for their situation.

‘The first trainings, to teach him the basics of braille, will be three or four times a week in the morning, so we could still go to the studio after that,’ Freddie said. ‘Sorry, I’ve got it all figured out,’ he winked, and Brian blushed. Freddie had obviously been thinking about possibilities for Roger – and him, to some extent – better than he had been while being at home with him all day long.

‘And can we… eh, can we afford it?’ Brian asked a little shamefully, looking around the currently rather impoverished looking living room of the small detached London house, knowing pretty damn well that they, as one of the many starting rock bands, couldn’t afford the costs of personal tuition for Roger if they still wanted to be able to pay the rent.

‘It’s free of charge,’ John joined the conversation.  It’s all part of the national education programme,’ he comforted him. ‘Don’t worry about the money. It even covers traveling expenses if you live far away – which we don’t, because we literally hardly live a few kilometres away from the location.’

Brian nodded a little dazedly, and Freddie leant towards him, taking Brian’s hands between his own once again. ‘Brian, darling, there are _dozens_ of people out there to help you two. You just have to reach out to them.’

Brian kept his head down as he nodded; he knew Freddie was right. There were numerous organisations, not to even mention how many parents, siblings, neighbours, friends, and other people around them, were willing to help them. It was just his foolish pride and his inability to let go of his boyfriend during what was probably going to be known as the most vulnerable period of his life, that had caused Brian to decide not to reach out to them, even though he knew damn well that he couldn’t cope with all of it on his own for much longer.

Freddie, probably sensing that Brian needed some time alone to think, downed the last of his tea before standing up, gesturing for John to do the same. ‘We’ll leave you to it, Brian. Please discuss it with Roger. But you should catch up some sleep first, just like him,’ he insisted, which suddenly sounded like a pretty good idea to the exhausted guitarist. He was a little overwhelmed with the whole discussion and the suggestion of braille class, and he sure longed to go to bed and simply sleep for the rest of the day and night, to finally get some rest and maybe think about how he was going to ask Roger what he thought about the plan in the first place.

‘Oh, and before I forget…’ Freddie said, digging in the pocket of his trousers and taking out a small, rectangular shaped piece of paper. ‘Here is the phone number of the headmistress; if you need any information, or if you want to sign him up, all you have to do is give her a ring,’ Freddie said, pressing the small note into the hands of the still paralysed guitarist, who blankly stared at it as if it was the first time he had even laid his hands on a piece of paper.

‘We’ll be going now – no, you don’t have to get up, we’ll let ourselves out,’ Freddie said when Brian made an attempt to get up, but failed due his tiredness. Brian nodded a bit ashamedly, his eyes following his friends when they walked towards the hallway to dress up in their coats again. The rain hadn’t stopped yet; it was a bit less intense than before, but it still was highly audible and without a doubt also highly tangible once they would go outside and to their own house again, leaving Brian alone with his boyfriend and with a decision to be made.

Just when Brian thought they were walking out of the front door, Freddie returned shortly, peeking his head around the door to the living room for one last comment. ‘Do something with it, dear. We don’t want to see you and him waste away here.’

‘We won’t waste away,’ Brian whispered to no one in particular, hoping – as usual – that he was right about this promise being the only thing he felt he could do.

 

# # #

After having sat in the living room on his own for at least half an hour with the flyer and the post-it note in his hand, thinking about the pros and cons of the course, Brian eventually decided that it probably was a good idea to give it a chance. He was still careful about it, but at the same time hopeful it could give Roger some distracting, teach him something useful, and just be a reason for them not to sit around in their house and get on each other’s nerves all day – and therefore maybe give them both some space and rest.

Brian decided that it was probably best to now obey to Freddie’s order of getting some sleep before he could change his mind again and discard the idea of reaching out to others for help, and discuss the topic later with the person who was most affected by it. Brian got up and tiptoed his way upstairs and into their bedroom, where he sat down on his own side of the bed, looking over his shoulder to glance at Roger, who was soundlessly sleeping. Despite the loud clattering of the rain against the roof and windows, this could have been expected; last night had been rather horrible in terms of sleeping, so for Roger to take a bit of a nap in the middle of the day hadn’t even been a bad idea. Though they had gone to bed at the reasonable time of nine o’clock and though they had fallen asleep almost immediately, Roger had woken up three hours after that, and from that moment, he hadn’t managed to stay asleep for more than half an hour in a row. And though he had been trying to keep silent about it, Brian always sensed it immediately when he wasn’t sleeping, and therefore had slept very poorly as well.

The results of this had been highly visible throughout the day; Roger had been weepy and whiny all morning, and Brian could feel that his own patience and composure weren’t exactly up to standard either. He had been colder and more distant towards his boyfriend than he had intended to do, _and t_ he unexpected visit from their best friends, hadn’t exactly bettered Brian’s mood at first. But now that they were out of the door again, Brian was glad they had turned up – without them, he probably hadn’t thought about getting Roger to learn the language for the blind. It could give them something else to focus on apart from the soul-rending reality that Roger was never going to see again; something to work on, something to distract them from sitting around in their house all day, something that might give some sense of stability in Roger’s life than had been turned upside down a few months ago. Maybe Freddie was right; maybe it was time to face reality and everything that came with it, and adapting to Roger’s new life instead of turning a literal blind eye to it and try to ignore and avoid the whole thing completely.

Brian was completely caught up in his own mind when a soft voice from behind him awoke him from these thoughts. ‘Are Freddie and John gone?’ Roger asked, his voice husky from just having slept for a while, and Brian turned to look at him in one, swift moment. Roger, his cheek squished against his pillow, his hair forming a messy halo around his pale face, the duvets sloppily covering his shivering body, was looking in his direction with weary, half-opened eyes.

‘Yes, they just went home again,’ Brian whispered back at him. ‘Did I wake you up?’

‘I wasn’t sleeping very tightly,’ Roger said. ‘Do I have to get up?’ he asked, and it took Brian a split second to realise that Roger couldn’t see that he was, contrary to what the drummer thought, unbuttoning his shirt in order to get ready to lie down next to him.

‘No baby, I was actually going to join you, if that’s okay with you.’

‘Of course,’ Roger staid, waiting for Brian to undress and lie down next to him. Brian simply discarded his clothes to the floor and joined his boyfriend in bed. Roger immediately snuggled closer to him and Brian threw an arm around his body, stroking Roger’s back while thinking about whether or not he should bring up the braille class right now. On one side, Roger seemed to be pretty tired, and Brian wasn’t sure if he was willing to talk about it now, but on the other hand, he was rather curious to know what Roger thought about the idea.

His curiosity eventually got the better of him, so Brian cleared his throat before speaking. ‘Roger? Can we talk?’

‘Is there something wrong?’ Roger immediately asked insecurely.

‘No, not at all,’ Brian comforted him. ‘But as you know, Freddie and I talked for a bit today,’ he started off quite confidently, but then ended up stammering rather clumsily in his quest for the right words that wouldn’t upset Roger. ‘Freddie and I were just thinking… Well, _he_ was thinking, it was his idea actually…’ Brian corrected himself awkwardly. ‘You know, since… you being blind is going to last forever, basically…’ he continued, fiddling around with the hem of his shirt.

‘Yes?’ Roger said – not impatiently, but in a more encouraging way, urging him to just speak about whatever had been discussed earlier that afternoon.

Brian sighed before he finally spoke. ‘Freddie thought it might be a good idea to sign you up for Braille class,’ he said hopefully, not knowing where to look when Roger’s insecure eyes found his.

‘Braille class?’ Roger eventually repeated with a bit of a frown on his forehead.

‘Yes, to learn to read and write again, maybe meet some new people, just to get out there again…’ Brian explained, but his voice trailed down when he saw Roger’s expression change from puzzled to distant, and Brian felt his hope starting to melt away. Maybe it was too early to bring up this topic yet; maybe he should have waited a little longer, or maybe it just wasn’t going to work for him altogether. ‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. We just thought… Let’s just forget about it,’ Brian sighed softly.

‘No, it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that I don’t really know what to say,’ Roger admitted quietly, trailing his finger along Brian’s chest. ‘Do you think I could do it?’

‘Of course I think you can do it. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it up,’ Brian said.

‘I’m just scared, Brian,’ Roger whispered at him and nestled closer against his partner’s chest. Brian, who held him a bit tighter, totally shared this emotion. He also was scared of the results of this course, but for other reasons than the things Roger was probably fearing. Whereas Roger was most likely to be insecure about meeting new people and maybe not be able to pick up braille as fast as he would like to, Brian mainly felt unsure about handing Roger a part of his independence back. For months, he had done _everything_ for him; helping him to get dressed, cooking for him, helping him shave, reading important parts of information to him. To see that he was starting to learn how to do things himself was wonderful on one side, but on the other hand, Brian wasn’t ready to let go of him. He had gotten used to being Roger’s helper in everything, and he had grown too attached to being important, _indispensable_ even, to Roger’s everyday life, to see him be independent yet. He was scared, just like Roger, for what was going to happen. But as usual, he couldn’t give in to his own fears, let alone mentioning them to Roger, so Brian simply kissed him before speaking.

‘I know you are, but I’ll be there with you. I’m not leaving you alone,’ he said, which was something Roger had to be reminded of every now and then; every other hour, that was. ‘And think about it, wouldn’t it be amazing to be able to read again?’

This question was meant to get Roger excited about the plan, but it only brought up his insecurity.

‘But what if I can’t do it?’

‘Of course you will be able to do it. You’re smart and you learn fast,’ Brian said, which unfortunately didn’t seem to convince Roger.

‘I used to learn fast, when I could just _read_ the information I had to know,’ Roger answered.

‘Maybe we should just go over there and meet with the teacher first. Just to get a first impression, and then decide what we’re going to do,’ Brian proposed, not just to please Roger, but also to comfort himself – he wasn’t ready to rush into this either, and preferred to first look around at the place before actually starting with the class.

‘Hmm-hmm,’ Roger hummed distantly, which was usually a sign that he was too tired to keep up with the conversation, so Brian pulled the blanket a bit tighter around him and decided that it was probably better to have this talk later.

‘But I don’t want you to worry about any of that now. We’re going to sleep for a bit now, and we can talk it over tonight,’ Brian announced, watching over the boy who had curled up against his chest until he was sure Roger had fallen asleep. Only then Brian allowed himself to follow his example, hoping that whatever they were going to choose to do would be the right decision.

 

# # #

Sitting at the kitchen table that night during one of the first real dinners Brian had cooked in a period of over a week, the guitarist was nervous to broach the topic again. He wasn’t sure if Roger, who was currently clumsily prodding his fork into the small pile of beans and peas on his plate, had thought about the opportunity of starting braille class yet –at the moment, he seemed more concerned with piercing vegetables onto his cutlery, and Brian didn’t want to interrupt him from his attempt to actually eat something on his own initiative for the world. But he couldn’t help wondering what was going through his mind right now; had Roger changed his mind about not seeming to be particularly positive towards the idea of braille class, or was he still not exactly excited about the plan? And if he still wasn’t in for it, would it be helpful to talk to him to try and convince him to do it anyway, or would that be too intrusive? Could he simply take Roger there to take a look, or was it really not okay to do that if his partner wasn’t voluntarily agreeing to the plan?

In the end, it turned out that none of it was going to be necessary; it seemed like Roger was going to be cooperative on his own. ‘I think I’m doing it, by the way. The braille course, I mean,’ Roger suddenly said without looking up from his plate, making Brian look up at him, a careful smile starting to tug at the corners of his lips.

‘Really?’ Brian asked, trying – but failing – to hide the excitement in his voice. He wanted Roger to agree to the plan entirely based on his own thoughts about, and not simply because the people around him wanted him to, but goodness, it was hard to stay neutral after Roger’s approval.

‘Yes. I think it’s about time that we, uh… accept what’s happened and try to move forwards,’ Roger said, which were Brian’s thoughts exactly.

‘That’s very brave of you, dear,’ Brian said, leaning over the table to give Roger’s cheek a bit of a squeeze, to which Roger blushed. ‘Shall I give them a ring tonight?’ Brian proposed. Roger, who had been reticent about taking initiatives since he had lost his eyesight, but who was now voluntarily wanting to sign up for this, was a chance Brian didn’t want to waste.

‘Please do so as fast as possible, before I start overthinking it and change my mind again,’ Roger smiled a little insecurely, and Brian, now smiling broadly, stood up from the table to walk over to the telephone in the hallway, pecking Roger’s cheek and ruffling his hair on his way there. He was practically running to get to the telephone, as if every second he wasted could give Roger the time to decide that he wasn’t going to do it after all.

Brian wasn’t able to get rid of the smile on his face when he sat down on the chair next to the spot where the telephone had been fastened against the wall, pulling the note with the telephone number out of the pocket of his jeans. He took a deep breath before picking the phone off the hook, inwardly thinking about what he was going to say to whoever was going to answer. He did want to leave a good impression and ask for the right information, after all. Just when he deemed the words he had in mind to be appropriate and professional enough, the door to the kitchen opened to reveal Roger, who – while trailing his hand along the wall – slowly walked up to him.

‘Can I listen?’ he asked, and Brian gladly welcomed him, pulling Roger into his lap and using his free hand to dial the number, and afterwards to cross his fingers while listening to the repetitive bleeps. He didn’t know why waiting for the headmistress made him as nervous as it did, but he could feel his heart starting to beat faster while waiting for her to pick up the phone, then skip a beat when he heard the soft voice of a woman announcing her name.

‘Good evening Mrs. Edwards, this is Brian May speaking,’ he started off a little stiffly, waiting for her to return the greeting, which she cheerfully did. She sounded kind, Brian immediately concluded, which was a big relief; the term ‘headmaster’ or ‘headmistress’ always reminded him of the stern and unrelenting types he had encountered during his child- and early adulthood, but this woman didn’t sound like one of them. Now feeling a bit more comfortable, Brian started telling the story of how they had been informed of the institution and that they would love to know a little more . Starting to feel more and more at ease when the person on the other side of the telephone line was able to give him a pretty detailed account on what he could expect from the braille class, Brian asked about the opportunities of coming over sometime to see the whole concept in practice, and they agreed for a meeting the very next day.

‘And? What did they say?’ Roger asked when Brian put the receiver down. He had desperately been trying to bug the conversation all along, but unfortunately for him, he hadn’t been able to make out much of what Brian’s caller had been saying, which had been quite frustrating when he heard Brian mention his name multiple times without being able to find out how the other person reacted.

‘I spoke to Mrs. Edwards, the headmistress, and she told me that there is still place for you to be assigned to a personal tutor who can teach you the basics of braille, which means that you can start right away – if you want to, of course,’ Brian quickly added.

‘And something about meeting up?’ Roger asked.

‘Yes, we’ve arranged for us to meet Mrs. Edwards, as well as one of their private tutors, tomorrow morning. Or is that too fast?’ Brian asked when Roger seemed a bit taken aback by just the short period that was now available to mentally prepare for the meeting.

‘No, it’s okay, tomorrow is fine,’ Roger said, then quietly asked: ‘You won’t be leaving me alone tomorrow, right?’

‘Of course not. Mrs. Edwards said I could stay with you, even during the private classes, if you wanted me to. Which you do, I believe,’ Brian smiled, throwing his arms a little tighter around Roger, who leant back against him. ‘Come on, let’s go back to the kitchen, because I was just starting to get excited about you trying to eat those peas,’ Brian smiled, and even Roger giggled a little before heading back to the dining table.

# # #

‘I think we might be a bit too early. It’s not even twenty to eight yet,’ Brian said when he parked the cat at the parking place behind the building of the Royal London Society of Blind People. In their eagerness not to leave a bad impression and therefore be on time, they had left so early that their appointment was still over twenty minutes away by the time they arrived. But, deciding that it was better to be early than to be late, and that this would give them – or him only, actually, some time to look around, Brian remained cheerful and helped Roger to get out of the car, took him by the hand, and guided him to the front side of the building.

‘What does it look like?’ Roger asked – though he couldn’t see a single thing, he still always was curious to know what his surroundings looked like, and Brian was starting to become better at describing them to him every day.

‘It looks like a pretty classic building to be. Grey bricks, rectangular shape, rectangular windows, some ornaments here and there…’ he summed up. ‘It reminds me somewhat of a smaller and less extravagant version of Buckingham Palace, but with pillars and stairs in front of it.’

‘That still seems pretty extravagant to me,’ Roger said, but Brian could hear in his distant voice that he wasn’t focussing on the conversation at all. Roger’s voice was shaking, and his hand was clammy in Brian’s, both of which indicated that he was more than just a little nervous for this meeting.

‘Are you ready for this, Roger?’ Brian asked, but Roger didn’t answer; he intently stared, without seeing, at the building in front of him, but the tears that were shimmering in the corners of his eyes were all Brian needed to see to know he was right. ‘It will be alright, baby,’ he told him and gave Roger’s hand a bit of a squeeze. ‘It’s just an introduction. They just want to talk with us a little. Nothing will be expected of you yet.’

‘Let’s go inside,’ Roger managed, and Brian wordlessly agreed by helping him climb the stairs of the rather impressive looking building and wondering what they were going to find inside of it.

It wasn’t any surprise to Brian that the inside of the building, which he soon learned used to be the residence of some noble family centuries ago, was just as beautiful and prestigious as the outside. They made their way through the large stateroom, and as Brian announced to his lover that they were going to register at the reception, he felt Roger’s hand tightening its grip around his arm. It was starting to get a bit painful, the tight hold around his upper arm, but knowing that Roger needed something to literally hang onto, he simply allowed him.

‘Good morning,’ Brian greeted the middle-aged woman behind the oakwood desk. ‘We’re here for a meeting with Mrs. Edwards. The name is Brian May – and Roger Taylor,’ he said, pointing at Roger, who was by now standing half behind him in an attempt to shield himself from the unknown people around them. ‘Sorry if we’re a bit early. We didn’t know exactly how long it was going to take to get here, and we didn’t want to be late.’

‘There’s no need to apologise, mister May. Grace is already available, and she’ll probably appreciate some extra time with the two of you,’ the receptionist said, before she picked up the telephone to probably dial for the headmistress whose first name hadn’t been familiar to them before. She didn’t actually get around to do this, though, for the put the receiver down again when a lady who Brian assumed must be the headmistress walked into the hallway.

‘Mister May and mister Taylor?’ she asked, and without turning around, Brian already knew it was her just by recognising her voice. When he did turn around, he saw a woman that very much was in line with – not to say exceeded – his expectation of the kind person he had spoken to online. A woman of average height and posture, probably in her mid-thirties, whose long, brown hair twisted had been into an elegant bun and whose kind, blue eyes sparkled with excitement behind a pair of glasses, walked up to them, hand already reached out towards Brian to shake his.

‘Yes, I’m mister May. Just Brian, actually,’ Brian said, gladly accepting her handshake.

‘It’s great to meet you. I’m Grace Edwards, the headmistress of the school, as you know,’ she said, before turning to the only person who hadn’t said a word yet. ‘And you must be mister Taylor, I assume?’ she asked.

‘I’m Roger Taylor, yes. It’s… nice to meet you,’ he said quietly, hesitantly reaching the wrong hand towards her, as right hand was still clinging onto Brian’s shirt, refusing to let go of him. Luckily, Grace understood the gesture and took Roger’s hand between her own.

‘We are very happy to have you here, Roger,’ she said warmly. ‘Are you looking forward to starting to learn braille?’ she asked.

‘I eh… I think I am?’ Roger said insecurely, looking up at Brian as to find support in him.

‘He is. He’s just a little nervous,’ Brian told Grace, who nodded in understanding.

‘I see. I hope today’s visit might help to take away some of your nerves. We’re willing to do everything to make you feel at home,’ she promised, the sincerity in her voice seeming to make Roger feel a bit more comfortable, for he now nodded at her. ‘Come, let’s find a quiet place where we can sit down for a cup of tea and talk everything over for a bit,’ she invited, the couple following her as she walked into the endless hallway of the building.

# # #

‘Does anyone want some milk, sugar, anything else?’ Grace asked by the time everyone was inside her office – ‘everyone’ meaning Brian, Roger, Cynthia, who was a young, soft-spoken braille teacher who was going to lecture Roger if they agreed to sign him up, and herself – had been supplied with a cup of tea and a generous amount of biscuits. After the tea disaster of the day before, Brian had quickly taken the cup of tea from Roger, handed him a few biscuits to nibble on, and put the cup down on the table as far away as possible. Everyone politely shook their head, so Grace put the can of milk back on the table.

‘So, and what brings you here, gentlemen?’ she continued to ask. Brian looked down at Roger, who had curled up against the red sofa they were sitting on as much as anatomically possible. He didn’t exactly seem to be in the mood – or seemed to be too shy, that was – to vividly recreate the whole story for the two women, so Brian decided to do it for him instead.

Brian coughed softly and put his half-empty cup of tea down on the table, next to Roger’s. ‘Well, as you’ve probably come to notice, Roger is blind,’ he started off.

‘And as far as I can see, he hasn’t been for a very long time, now has he?’ Grace carefully asked, her eyes glued to Roger, who was staring down at his lap, fiddling around with the biscuits he had been given earlier.

‘He’s been blind for a little over four months now,’ Brian said on Roger’s behalf.

‘Are you willing to tell us how it happened? A disease, an eye infection, an injury?’ the headmistress questioned. ‘You don’t have to tell us, only when you want to,’ she quickly added. ‘The last thing we want to do is make you feel uncomfortable.’

‘Roger?’ Brian asked to get his boyfriend’s approval, but Roger didn’t react; he simply toyed around with the cookies, chewed on his bottom lip, and tried hard to avoid everybody’s probing eyes, even though he couldn’t see them staring at him anyway.

‘It’s alright, you don’t have to tell us,’ Cynthia eventually said to break the silence.

‘An accident. It was an accident on Guy Fawkes night,’ Roger suddenly whispered, attracting the attention of all people in the room just by speaking. ‘We were out to see the bonfire, but I was standing too close and it… got out of hand, the fire. Brian tried to pull me away, but it was too late.’

Brian threw his arm a little tighter around his partner, before picking the story up where Roger had left it. ‘He was in hospital for weeks, been through numerous operations, medicines, but they couldn’t… save his eyesight,’ Brian swallowed painfully, keeping his head down as well by now.

‘Roger, Brian, I’m so sorry for you,’ Grace whispered, sadness visible in her bright blue eyes. ‘Getting blind later in life is a huge shock. But there is no reason to give up hope. There are many ways to get by after losing your eyesight, and many people to help you do this. We, for one, are more than willing to welcome you here at braille class, help you meet people who’ve experienced the same things as you’ve been going through, therapists who are specialised in life with visual disabilities,’ she summed up, and it was probably the kindness in her voice and her sincere willingness to help them that eventually made Roger tear up, breaking down in loud, helpless sobs that made his body tremble all over.

‘Oh, Roger,’ Cynthia gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Grace also seemed deeply affected by Roger’s sudden breakdown after her words; luckily, Brian was present and he knew perfectly well what to do. He pulled Roger closer against his body, let him bury his face in his chest, and repeatedly stroked his back while he cried his heart out.

‘It’s okay. It’s fine. He’s just a bit emotional lately,’ Brian comforted the women around him, deciding not to tell them that Roger was actually starting to get himself together lately, and that he had been way worse than this.

‘I’m sorry,’ Roger managed between sobs, but all people around him assured him that there was no need to be so. Grace stood up and returned with a tissue and a glass of water, something Brian found to be a way better idea than the tea anyway after recent incidents.

After a few minutes, Roger had calmed down again, still occasionally emitting sobs, but able to speak again. ‘I’m sorry. It just… hits me sometimes that this is permanent,’ Roger said, bending down to pick up the crumpled handkerchief he had accidentally dropped.

‘I know it’s hard to come to terms with it, Roger, and no one will ever blame you for getting emotional,’ Grace promised, to which Roger nodded.

‘Can we, eh… move on, maybe?’ he asked a little insecurely, not feeling comfortable carrying on talking about the subjects he had just been crying about.

‘Of course,’ Grace said. ‘Maybe we can move on to the actual braille course,’ she suggested, and when everyone agreed, she started reproducing the story Brian largely recognised from the things she had told him the day before; the private lessons that were going to be given by Cynthia for the first few months, until Roger would be ready to join a small class of people who had also gotten blind later in life. They shared a bit of a laugh about Roger’s surprised question if he wasn’t going to be placed with small children learning how to read and write in braille instead of normal English, and Brian’s remark that six- and seven years old were indeed maybe more his kind of people. Brian accepted the eye roll and the playful slap he received from Roger as a good sign, glad that he was able to smile again.

‘Now, Roger, have you ever laid your hands on braille sheets before?’ Cynthia asked when the atmosphere had been lifted up again, and Roger, who shook his head in response, was invited to sit down at the desk and experience what they looked – felt, that was – like. Brian, who stood right behind him and placed his hands on Roger’s shoulders to let him know that he was right there with him, looked in surprise at the white carton sheets with embossed dots that had been neatly arranged in rows, yet still seemed to be at random places. He couldn’t have concluded what he was looking at if the top of the sheet wouldn’t have been decorated with the words _‘Braille Worksheet 1.1 – the Alphabet’_ in the normal, Latin letters he was more used to seeing than this style.

Cynthia sat down next to Roger, carefully picked up his right hand, and guided it to the top of the paper. ‘What we’ve got here is a worksheet with the letters of the alphabet in braille. Every letter consists of six dots or empty spaces that we call a combination. These combinations are extra-large format to help you learn how to read them,’ Cynthia started.

‘Are these extra-large?’ Brian frowned. The symbols looked rather tiny to him already; they were smaller than a fingertip, and he could not imagine being able to understand the meaning of them if they were even smaller than this.

‘These are extra-large; most combinations are about half smaller than this. But once you understand the meaning of all combinations, you’ll be able to feel them no matter how small they are,’ Cynthia promised to Roger. ‘What we’re now going to do is simply get you used to what braille signs feel like. You don’t have to remember anything yet; you can just trail your finger along the dots.’

Roger hesitantly stretched out his forefinger, and with a bit of help from Cynthia, placed it at the beginning of the row and slowly moved it towards the right side of the paper.

‘That’s right, just slowly move it in a horizontal line – don’t press, just lightly let your finger slip over the dots. That’s right,’ Cynthia praised him.

‘It feels funny,’ Roger said with a bit of a giggle, and Brian smiled softly as he looked at Roger’s finger travelling back and forth over the paper. It was great to see that he seemed to be positive towards learning braille; even though this was just a warming up, nothing more than an introduction, he didn’t seem afraid of not being able to learn it like he had been the day before.

‘Do you feel how the dots – and thus the letter – stops here, and then there’s a small gap of space before the next letter begins?’ Cynthia asked, and Roger nodded. ‘That’s when a letter ends. So if we now put your finger down on the top again…’ the teacher picked up Roger’s finger and put it at the very first combination again, ‘you can feel the separate letters. Here is the A, which consist of a dot in the left corner and five empty spaces. During the learning process, we’ll divine this as o-x-x-x-x-x. That means a dot, followed by five empty spaces, when you would look at it from left to right and from up to down. Can you imagine what that looks like?’

‘I think I can. I’m just not sure if I will remember,’ Roger admitted shyly.

‘That doesn’t matter. You don’t have to remember anything of this; you’ll be having months to learn this, and I believe that that isn’t going to be any trouble for you,’ she said, making Roger blush a little.

They rehearsed the alphabet as a whole a few times, Cynthia let Roger feel some sheets that contained short one-syllable words they would practice with later, before she decided that Roger had experienced enough for that day. They arranged a second meeting, which would be the first real lesson in braille Roger would be having, for the next week, to give him a bit of time to get used to the idea. Brian and Grace exchanged the necessary information about previous schools, addresses, and phone numbers, and forty-five minutes after having walked into the building, Roger and Brian were standing outside again.  

‘So,’ Brian said as he turned the key around in the hole of the car door. ‘What did you think about it? Did you like Grace and Cynthia?’ he asked, even though he already knew the answer. Though Roger had been going through a bit of an emotional breakdown at one point, he had managed to get himself together soon, and the kindness and patience of the headmistress and teacher had been very helpful during his introduction to braille.

‘Yes, I really liked them. They seemed very kind and patient and encouraging. I’m actually pretty excited to go back next Tuesday,’ he admitted softly.

‘I’m glad you are. I’m also very excited to see how your first real lesson will go,’ Brian smiled, pulling Roger closer against his body and stroking his hair. ‘Shall we go home again?’ he proposed, already opening the car door for his boyfriend, who apparently had other plans in mind.

‘Do we have to go home right away?’ Roger asked.

‘Well, we don’t _have_ to. Is there someplace you want to go?’ Brian asked in surprise; he had no idea where Roger wanted to be going instead of homewards, but he sure was in for whatever plan he was having in mind after Roger practically not wanting to leave their home for literal months.

‘What time is it?’

Brian stretched out his hand to make the sleeve of his shirt slip back, and looked at the silver pointers of his watch. ‘It’s barely half past eight. I don’t know where you want to go, but most shops and public places won’t open until nine or ten, baby,’ Brian reminded him.

‘I know, but I didn’t want to go to a public place anyway. I think we should go pay a visit to Freddie and John,’ Roger said.

‘At this time?’ Brian asked.

‘They dropped by unannounced at our place, too. Let’s see if we can excite them with a visit at a quarter to nine on precious their day off,’ Roger smiled mischievously, and Brian couldn’t help chuckling. No matter how much had changed about Roger since the accident, his naughtiness and eternal willingness to test limits hadn’t vanished; it had just been hidden for a while, tucked away until it would be able to return again when the right situation would show up. And since the right situation seemed to be right now, who was Brian to deny such a request?

‘Oh, you little tease,’ Brian grinned, placing both hands on Roger’s sides and throwing him over his shoulder. Roger let out a squeal of shock when he was lifted up in the air, which soon turned into a squeal of delight when Brian kissed his face all over right before putting him down on his feet again. The guitarist couldn’t care less about the probing stares of passer-by’s; he never really did, but especially not during one of those spare moments during which Roger genuinely seemed to be happy, be it just for a minute.

‘So we’re doing it?’ Roger asked, hands still clinging around the back of Brian’s neck, a bright smile on his face, which only grew broader when Brian openly agreed for the first time.

‘Of course we’re doing it,’ Brian replied, giving Roger’s cheek as much of a squeeze as possible after his rather drastic weight loss. ‘I still have the spare key of their back door in my wallet. Let’s see how they like it when we suddenly stand right next to their bed at twenty to nine in the morning.’

‘They’re going to murder us,’ Roger giggled.

‘I think it’ll be worth it,’ Brian snickered in response. ‘Go hard or go home, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ Roger agreed.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Brian said, giving Roger’s backside a bit of a spank, like he always used to do when he knew Roger was up to something mischievous. ‘The earlier we’ll get there, the more pissed off they’ll be,’ he chuckled, before they both got into the car. Roger fumbled to insert the seatbelt into the lock, but he eventually managed on his own. He put his hand on the gearshift, waiting for Brian to place his hand on top of his, which had grown to be their sign of unity and invincibility. They drove off to the house of their friends with their naughty plan in mind, but also, since the first time in months, with some good news to share with them.


	4. Chapter 3

Brian had no idea what time it could possibly be when he woke up in a tangle of sheets and covers on that specific day in July, but the faint orange glow of the sunset shining through the thin fabric of their curtains was all he needed to see to know that he had survived another night without waking up – or being awoken, that was – even once. He smiled in relief, knowing that this meant that his boyfriend also must have experienced one of those spare peaceful nights, which was all he could have withed for as a birthday gift; for the person he loved most to finally get some sleep and be fully awake and ready to attend his birthday party. Brian snuggled closer into the pillows again, his fingers reaching out to touch those of Roger.

‘Oh Roger, guess what day it is…’ Brian excitedly tried to wake him up, knowing Roger had been waiting for this day. Strangely though, Brian’s finger bumped up against nothing but a crumple of blankets and sheets and the cold surface of the mattress Roger was supposed to lie on.

‘Hmm… Roger?’ Brian asked, throat soar from not having used it nor cleared it all night, and he rolled over a little further in the hope that he might detect the person he was looking for there, which unfortunately turned out to be a fruitless action. Disorientated and still sleepy, Brian at last opened his eyes, and he had no idea why it shocked him so much to see that Roger indeed wasn’t there. The sight of the empty mattress corresponded perfectly to his previous observations, so this wasn’t something he hadn’t expected to see. Maybe it was exactly the fact that he couldn’t _see_ him; Brian had been hoping that he had just still been half-asleep, still floating around in a visionary world when he hadn’t been able to find his partner. To now be fully awake and see with his own eyes that Roger’s side of their double bed was indeed abandoned, was literally and figuratively an eye-opener to him. Brian propped himself up into a half-sitting position on the bed, habitually ran a hand through the mass of curls that threatened to fall into his face, and he glanced at the alarm clock next to his bed, even though the time the device displayed couldn’t be less irrelevant to him at that given moment.

‘Roger?’ the guitarist asked after having cleared his throat, stepping out of bed to glance right over it, to check if the small gap of space between the bed and the wall on Roger’s side of the bed was empty or if he had ended up lying here somewhere in the middle of the night. From experience, Brian knew that he could be restless at night, tossing and turning endlessly, and sometimes even rolling out of bed, but instinctively Brian could tell that there was no use looking for Roger there or anywhere in their bedroom in general.

More than just a little worried, Brian walked out of their room, fruitlessly glanced inside the guest room, paced over to the bathroom in just a handful of steps and tore open the door, already feeling like he wasn’t going to find him there either; Roger knew that Brian didn’t want him to leave the room unannounced, and believe it or not, he actually obeyed this order and always let Brian know, mostly because he also needed his help to find the way in the darkness of the small hallway right next to the stairs.

 _The stairs._ Brian could feel all the blood draining out of his face when the mental images of the possible scenarios flickered before his eyes – Roger falling down the stairs, grazing himself, bruising himself, wounding himself, breaking a limb or even worse than that – and Brian ran towards the other side of the hallway. Stars danced before his eyes when he noticed that the stairgate he had installed to prevent Roger from falling down the stairs, was opened, even though he was sure he had closed them properly the evening before, meaning that Roger had somehow managed to get downstairs one way or another. By the time he feverishly stumbled down the stairs, repeatedly calling Roger’s name and frantically tearing open the door that lead to the living room, he felt like he was going to lose his mind. He had felt moments of fear like this before; the moment Roger collapsed into his arms right after the accident when Brian could hardly make sense out of what was happening, the time Roger burned his hand and lower arm on the stove so badly that they ended up in first aid, and the first night out of hospital, when Roger had been crying all night and furiously had been wishing for his life to be over, simply because he felt like he couldn’t go on like this anymore. All those times had been frightening for Brian, but back then, he had at least been able to comfort himself with the thought that Roger was right there with him, while right now, he literally had no idea where he was.

‘Roger, please, answer me, oh my God-’ Brian was shouting by now as he made his way through the dusky living room, almost knocking over a vase that was standing on the table he ran past. When Roger turned out not to be here, Brian was praying that he was in the kitchen, which was the last room in the house he could possibly be. He almost didn’t dare to loo when he opened the door with trembling hands out of fear that the kitchen would also be empty, but he was so desperate to find him that he took this possibility for granted and flung the door open. In the end, he was glad that he had done this, though, because this last room he looked in finally contained the person he was looking for.

‘Roger!’ Brian cried in relief once he saw his boyfriend standing at the stove. Without even thinking for a second about how this first exclamation of his name had already startled his visually impaired boyfriend, Brian ran up to him, spun him around, and threw his arms tightly around Roger, who yelped in shock and surprise.

‘Roger, you scared the hell out of me when I woke up alone!’ Brian exclaimed, pressing his partner even closer against his chest than before.

‘Sorry,’ Roger wheezed, almost gasping for air beneath Brian’s over-the-top-protective embrace. He struggled to try and get some more space between the two of them for the sake of his breath circulation, but Brian wasn’t planning on letting him go now that he had found him after having feared for the worst. Roger therefore simply let his body go limp and allowed Brian to hold him as tightly as he pleased, hoping he would eventually let go of him.

After ten more seconds of tight embrace and nuzzling at Roger’s blond tresses, Brian finally released Roger from the grip around his back, and instead put his hands lightly on his shoulders.

‘Darling, don’t ever leave me without notifying me, okay?’ Brian asked.

‘Yes, I’m sorry,’ Roger apologised again, which was rewarded with a kiss against his forehead. After that, Brian allowed himself to focus on their surroundings instead of just on his partner, which unfortunately turned out to be a new source of stress to the guitarist.

‘What do you think you were doing here?’ Brian asked sternly, putting his hands on his hips while observing the chaos that was going on on the countertop; pressed orange peels, broken eggshells, a badly mutilated looking stick of butter that missed a part out of the middle, a torn-open carton of milk in the middle of a pool of this aforementioned substance, a thin layer of dusty flour covering the entire surface of the countertop. The frying pan with a lonesome looking cube of butter – probably the piece that missed out of the battered butter stick – on the stove, ready for usage, was what made Brian realise what Roger had been trying to achieve by being in here on his own.

‘Were you trying to cook?!’ he asked in disbelief, feeling a second heart attack starting to sink in when Roger nodded.

‘Yes, but I’m even worse at it now than before I was blind,’ Roger sighed in defeat. He didn’t get much time to think about his declining cooking abilities, though, for Brian gently yet firmly grasped his upper arm and pulled him closer towards him.

‘Roger Meddows Taylor, I told you not to ever get close to fire without supervision, didn’t I?’ the guitarist asked his captive boyfriend calmly but sternly, looking deeply into Roger’s blue eyes, even though they couldn’t look back at him. He did detect a hint of fear in them, though; a sparkle of insecurity with a trembling bottom lip to match.

‘I… I didn’t want to upset you,’ Roger stammered softly. ‘I just wanted to make you breakfast for your birthday... I just wanted to do something back for you,’ he added even quieter, instantly making Brian feel guilty about having reproved him for this well-meant gesture, especially when he saw tears in his eyes when Roger asked almost inaudibly: ‘Are you mad at me?’

‘Of course I’m not mad at you,’ Brian said quickly, relaxing his grip around Roger’s upper arm along with this statement. Of course he couldn’t be mad at his rebellious but well-intentioned boyfriend; not as he looked at Roger’s pouty lips, the whisk he was awkwardly holding between his thumb- and forefinger, and the smear of badly whisked batter across his cheeks that, after having thinned out drastically due to a lack of appetite for a few months, were finally starting to gain back the first hints of their usual chubbiness that Brian found to be so adorable. Roger was simply too benevolent and innocent to ever do something wrong in the eyes of Brian, who comforted him once more that all was fine. ‘I’m not mad at you. I appreciate the gesture, but please, don’t cook on your own again, okay?’ Brian asked, and Roger nodded obediently, keeping his head down. ‘Come, don’t be sad on a day like this. We should celebrate,’ Brian smiled, kissing the top of Roger’s head and placing both of his hands on Roger’s sides to sit him down on the countertop. Roger’s eyes lighted up when Brian made an indirect mention of the date of that day, and he stretched his arms out to pull Brian closer.

‘Happy birthday, Bri,’ he said excitedly after having buried his head in the crook between Brian’s neck and shoulder. The guitarist gladly accepted the embrace, loving the way Roger held him and smoothed his hand over his back. This was a move he usually carried out on Roger when he was feeling sad; to now get it reciprocated, in a positive context above all, felt very good to the guitarist.

‘Thank you, angel,’ Brian whispered back at him, giving him one more kiss on his cheek when Roger broke away from him. ‘Shall I take this from you and finish the job?’ Brian asked while already closing his fingers around the batter-covered whisk Roger was clinging onto, and Roger agreed by handing it over to him. ‘It’s very kind of you to want to cook for me, but the best gift you can give me is you being all safe and sound, with both your hands fully intact,’ Brian said, referring to the time Roger had burned himself on the stove and had to walk around with his right hand covered in a thick layer of bandage for weeks after, but Roger would not have been Roger if he hadn’t managed to turn this sentence into a sexual remark.

‘Because I’ll be needing these hands when we get back to the bedroom, right?’ Roger assumed cheekily, receiving a for him invisible eye roll and a tangible rap op the knuckles with the whisk.

‘The batter isn’t going to be the only thing I’m going to use this whisk on,’ Brian joked as he started stirring the creamy substance in the bowl until a smoother mixture formed, smiling as Roger started blushing. ‘A joke, love,’ Brian comforted him with a quick squeeze of his cheek, then added: ‘Unless you want it to be more than that, of course.’

‘You know I do,’ Roger giggled softly, yet he still kept his head down. They both knew he didn’t mind a bit of punishment in the bedroom every now and then; talking about this made him feel a bit awkward, though, so Brian decided not to dwell on it for too long.

‘In that case, you will need to clean it off first,’ Brian said, handing the whisk back to Roger. Even though pancake batter didn’t have nearly as much taste to it as that of cake, Roger still loved eating it, so he didn’t waste a second and immediately brought the whisk closer to his lips and started running his tongue over the wire loops of the tool. Brian smiled softly at the sight of it; not only was it adorable to see his partner being completely absorbed in licking the remains of batter off the iron utensil, it also gave him a chance to start cooking without Roger wanting to help him, which sure was well-meant, but rather unwise and dangerous. Quickly, Brian put on the fire beneath the frying pan and melted the butter, before ladling a first scoop of batter in the pan.

‘Did you sleep well, Roggie?’ Brian asked as he flipped over the first pancake, his eyes not leaving Roger for longer than the few second he needed to check on the meal he was preparing every now and then; even though he was occupied with something else now, his boyfriend could be rather restless and sometimes simply couldn’t sit still for a longer period than approximately ten seconds, especially when he was excited about something (let’s say, celebrating Brian’s birthday), and therefore needed to be looked after constantly in order to make sure he wouldn’t burn himself on the stove or fall off  the countertop or do anything else that might cause him to hurt himself.

‘Hmm-hmm,’ Roger hummed in agreement, not taking his eyes off the whisk he was licking about as enthusiastically as a toddler would do with a lollipop, which was all Brian needed to hear to know that Roger was too engaged with his treat to pay much attention to him. He therefore simply let Roger be for a moment and focussed on the pancake that didn’t exactly want to turn around again and ended up being burnt at one side. Brian, knowing the first one was often doomed to fail, started working on a new pancake that turned out to look way better. He threw the first pancake into the litter bin just outside the hallway, but when he returned right after, he couldn’t help snorting at the sight of Roger taking advantage of him being ‘out of sight,’ as to say so, by dipping the whisk into the bowl of batter.

‘I constantly have to keep an eye on you to make sure you behave, don’t I?’ Brian said quasi-indignantly, making Roger, who hadn’t heard him returning, quickly pull the whisk back again.

‘Sorry, Brian,’ Roger squeaked, but Brian had no intentions to reprove him; all he did was taking some of the substance off the whisk with his finger and softly flicking it against Roger’s nose.

‘I’m just glad you’re eating again,’ Brian said, wiping the smear of batter off Roger’s left cheek before kissing him at that spot. Though Roger was doing pretty well lately in terms of eating, drinking, sleeping, and overall happiness, Brian hadn’t forgotten about the situation of only a few months ago, when it had literally been a full-time job to simply keep themselves alive. He was so glad that Roger had made such a lot of improvement, and though it still took some encouragement and patience to get him to eat properly, Brian was relieved that they were able to celebrate first his own, and a week later also Roger’s birthday, without having to worry about either his mental or medical state.

Roger put his boyfriend’s statement into practice by bringing the whisk up to his lips and starting to lick it off again, and Brian quickly resumed his cooking, only just in time before yet another pancake would have been ending up on top of the first one in the litter bin. After having managed to stave off this possible disaster, he finally got the hang of it and successfully baked the rest of pancakes, occasionally interrupted from his task by Roger, who eagerly dragged his whisk through the bowl every now and then.  

‘So,’ Brian said when he had completed the stack of pancakes and topped it off with butter and syrup. ‘It looks pretty good, I must say.’

‘I really wish I could say the same, but honestly, I have no idea,’ Roger answered jokingly.

‘I knew you were going to say that,’ Brian chuckled. ‘In that case, you’ll have to try it,’ he answered as he placed the plate on the kitchen table and pulled out Roger’s chair. Roger obediently sat down, but as soon as Brian did the same, he could see that Roger was slowly inching his way towards him with his chair, wordlessly telling him that he wanted to sit with him. Since he had gotten blind, Brian had learned to focus on his body language a lot more than before, just like Roger had learned to extract a lot of information about him by the way he spoke.

‘You can sit on my lap if you want to,’ Brian offered, knowing Roger still found it a little awkward to  ask it himself. As expected, Roger nodded enthusiastically and got up, let Brian pull him into his lap and let him wrap his arms around him. Roger, now being the only one to be able to use his hands, carefully reached out for the cutlery, but then thought better of it when he remembered the warning Brian had given him not even fifteen minutes ago.

‘Can I cut it?’ Roger asked, and Brian nodded, handing him the knife.

‘Sure, but do be careful,’ Brian couldn’t help adding, even though he knew Roger could pretty much be trusted with cutlery by now. He still didn’t allow him to be around fire, given that Roger had somehow managed to burn himself on the stove, the flatiron, the kettle, and multiple cups of tea, but yesterday, Roger had proven to him he could handle a knife. He had insisted that he should help him cut the apples for the apple pie Brian had intended to bake while he was asleep (surprise surprise – Roger had woken up and was more than a little disappointed and indignant to find that Brian had attempted to carry out such a joyous activity without him), and even though Brian’s hands didn’t leave the vicinity of Roger’s all throughout the time he had the small peeling knife between his fingers, the guitarist eventually had to admit that he was handling it quite well. It was hard for Brian to let go of Roger and allow him to get into possibly risky situations, but he knew that it was about time he let Roger try and gain back some sense of autonomy.

Therefore, Brian simply peered over Roger’s shoulder while his boyfriend tried to cut the stack of pancakes into eight vertical slices, and didn’t interfere when the parts were about as even as the surface of the Grand Canyon. The cuts, which were supposed to meet right in the middle of the food, were in fact rather off-centre, multiple newly-cut stacks collapsed and toppled, and the syrup and butter seemed to be _everywhere_. But this could not be less irrelevant to Brian when he watched his pyjama-clad boyfriend happily planting the knife in the stake of pancakes time after time, until he decided that he had cut – _mutilated_ , that was – their breakfast enough.

‘I eh… I think I kind of messed it up,’ Roger giggled as he put the knife aside.

‘You can’t see it anyway, now can you?’ he mimicked Roger’s previous words with a smile.

‘Yeah, but you can,’ Roger pouted.

‘I don’t mind. What I’m seeing is you having fun and being happy,’ Brian said and handed Roger one of the forks. ‘Come, let’s try if we’ve made something decent out of it,’ he encouraged his boyfriend, who didn’t need to be told twice; he immediately pieced the prongs of the cutlery through the first pieces of pancake he could find and stuffed the whole amount in his mouth all at once.

‘Roger, calm down! We don’t have to catch a plane or so, now do we?’ Brian laughed, shaking his head as Roger tried to swallow part of it so he could at least answer him.

‘Hm- bwut it tastes wreally good!’ Roger eventually managed in defence.

‘I’m glad to hear,’ Brian said and quickly joined Roger, be it in a less greedy way than the drummer did, and he found that it indeed tasted pretty good. They weren’t exactly used to having pancakes or just anything frivolous in general for breakfast; Brian usually simply attempted to make Roger eat his milk and cereal in the morning before it would turn soggy and pulpy, given that Roger’s habit of trying to find more interesting things to do than eating, didn’t exactly have a positive effect on his milk-drenched cornflakes. Maybe the fact that he was getting tired of those eternal milk and cereals was the exact reason why Brian had to admit that it was nice to have something special early in the morning, especially on a day like this.

‘Making pancakes was a good idea, Roger,’ Brian praised his boyfriend once he had put his fork down on the table after they had eaten most of the pancakes. Roger, who halfway through the meal had decided that it was easier to put his fork aside and simply use his hands, was now licking the syrup off his fingers and nodded in agreement.

‘It was a long time ago when we last ate this, so I thought this would be a good occasion,’ he replied.

‘It sure is,’ Brian agreed, before his eyes wandered off to the clock above the door again. He hadn’t wanted to spoil Roger’s excitement while they had been cooking and eating, but since it was starting to get harder and harder to oppress his yawns, he decided that it was about time to inform him. ‘But darling, do you have any idea what time it is?’

‘No, is it still early?’ Roger guessed correctly, habitually turning to his face towards the place where he knew the clock was supposed to be. Naturally, he couldn’t see what it said, as usually was the case; ever since he had lost his eyesight, he also had completely lost track on time. Sometimes, Brian would find him roaming the fridge for lunch at nine in the morning, or have him tell him he was ready to sleep at seven PM. Especially his sleeping schedule could sometimes be completely messed up, which could explain the fact that he had gotten up while it officially hadn’t even turned _morning_ yet.

‘It’s twenty to six, dear,’ Brian told him, which, as expected, seemed to surprise Roger.

‘What? Twenty to six?’ Roger asked in disbelief, blushing slightly. ‘Then at what time did I get up?’

‘Well, I started looking for you at five to five, so I think you must’ve gotten up at… A quarter to five, maybe?’ Brian calculated, and Roger, who was now blushing crimson red, scambled off his lap.

‘I’m sorry, Bri, I thought it was way later,’ Roger apologised quickly. ‘Then again… it was kind of miraculous that you weren’t awake yet. I just assumed I was lucky,’ he admitted.

‘It’s okay. But I suggest we move back upstairs, don’t you think?’ Brian proposed, and Roger nodded, letting Brian take his hand and guide him to their room again, where first Roger and then Brian let himself fall backwards onto their bed. Brian set the alarm clock at ten o’clock, so that they could catch up a few hours of sleep and still have enough time to prepare for the visitors that were going to come over that day. As usual, Roger was the first to fall asleep; maybe usual wasn’t the right word, though. It wasn’t so that Roger naturally fell asleep before Brian did, but more that Brian didn’t allow himself to fall asleep before he was positive Roger had drifted off. It was a habit he had established during the first weeks of Roger being blind and home from hospital, the time when Brian didn’t trust Roger to be alone out of fear that he might harm himself, be it accidentally or intentionally, not to even mention that Roger needed his constant mental presence every time he had a nocturnal breakdown. It had been an exhausting time, and Brian was glad that they had left most of it behind them and that he could now wait for Roger to fall asleep so he could take a look at his sleeping angel, instead of because he was fearing the suicidal tendencies his boyfriend had been having a while ago.

Luckily, there was nothing that reminded Brian of that Godawful period in their lives now that he watched his boyfriend, who was lying closely against him, one hand on his Brian’s chest and the other below his own cheek, sleeping peacefully. Brian used the opportunity of him being unconscious to wipe some remaining flour off his pyjama shirt, wondering how on earth Roger could be wearing, let alone falling asleep, in a long-sleeved shirt in the middle of July. Brian knew Roger often felt cold, but he couldn’t understand how he insisted on wearing pyjamas _and_ laying under a bunch of blankets _and_ lying as close as anatomically possible to him, while all the guitarist wanted to do was get rid of as much clothing and other restrictive layers of fabric in bed. The only thing he did agree with in terms of warmth, was staying close to Roger, so he threw most of the blankets that covered him towards Roger, hooked his arms around whose waist, and fell asleep next to him.

# # #

They woke up a few hours later, and though Roger was unwilling to leave their bed this time – ‘We just woke up! Please, five more minutes…’ – Brian managed to make him get up by promising they’d take a bath together, something Roger would always unconditionally yield for. He impatiently tugged at Brian’s undershirt when the guitarist threw together an outfit for the both of them, wanting to go to the bathroom as quickly as possible by now. They made their way to the bathroom, where Brian filled the bathtub with water and ridded Roger and himself from their clothes in the meantime. Once he closed the tap, Roger was the first to quite literally jump into the water, and Brian smiled at his childlike excitement that never failed to make his heart flutter. He eventually saw a chance to step in as well, sat down behind Roger and pulled him between his legs. Knowing that his partner preferred toying around rather than actually washing himself, Brian let Roger play with whatever rubber duck he had found this time, and started rubbing a sponge drenched in soap along Roger’s arms and torso, before doing the same to himself.

Of course, the moment Brian told Roger it was time to get out of bath and move on came way too fast for Roger, but he obeyed anyway, knowing there was still a lot to do before their visitors came over. Brian hated inviting people into a messy house, especially when his parents came over, knowing that his mother would never approve of the state of their kitchen as it was after not having cleaned up the chaos they had made during breakfast. Brian wrapped a towel around Roger’s body and showed him where his clothes were, knowing Roger could take it from there – apart from the fact that he would sometimes end up wearing his shirt backwards because he couldn’t see what the front side was, he could pretty much get dressed as quickly and smoothly as he used to do.

They got dressed up, dried their hair, and made their way downstairs, where Brian tidied the kitchen and where Roger almost knocked over a porcelain vase during his attempt to vacuum the living room, which made Brian decide that it was probably better to put Roger on the sofa and let him listen to the radio while he finished vacuum cleaning.

It turned out that they had gotten out of bed at the exact right time; just when Brian pulled the plug of the vacuum cleaner out of the outlet, the doorbell rang to announce that his parents had arrived. Brian quickly readjusted a few pillows that were sloppily spread out all over the sofa, threw a few old newspapers and car magazines under the table, and ran a hand through his still slightly wet curls, before rushing over to the front door to let his parents in.

‘Brian, my dear, happy birthday!’ his mother exclaimed at the sight of him, pushing her handbag into the hands of her husband to use hers to cup Brian’s face and give him a few rather embarrassing kisses on both of his cheeks, something Brian hoped the neighbours hadn’t seen.

‘Thanks, mom,’ Brian said a little awkwardly once he had managed to escape from her grip, reaching out to accept his father’s handshake, which soon turned into a hug; his father clearly had more self-control than his wife, but he still seemed very happy to be there to celebrate his only child’s birthday.

‘Where is Roger?’ Ruth asked before Brian even had the time to break apart from his father. He had expected the question, though – his mother surely loved to see him, but she seemed to adore seeing his boyfriend even more. Ever since they had been introduced to each other, his mother had loved Roger’s adorable appearance and his cheeky-when possible, polite-when-necessary, well-meaning-at-all-times personality, and she had welcomed him into their family as if he were her own son. Roger turning blind had only caused her to spoil him even more with both attention and presents, sometimes so over the top that Brian wanted to call it to a halt, but never quite having the heart to actually interfere with the great relationship his mother and his boyfriend had.

‘He’s in the living room. Do come in,’ Brian told her, which was all his mother needed to rush over to the living room and excitedly greet Roger, who seemed to be just as happy to ‘see’ her as well. By the time Harold and Brian arrived in the living room as well after some small talk in the hallway, his mother was already sitting in the chair right next to him and pulled a springform pan out of the plastic bag she had been carrying.

‘Roger, I hope you’re hungry,  I’ve made you a chocolate cake and chocolate chip cookies this morning,’ Ruth asked, and Brian sighed.

‘Mom, it’s _my_ birthday, _we_ are supposed to take care of the cake!’ Brian said, even though he knew it was useless. His mother couldn’t help herself – she loved cooking and baking, especially if it was for her son and his boyfriend. They could never pop by without her having made something for them, and if they showed up unannounced, she would immediately pull out the first cake mix she encountered in the pantry and start baking something for them right there, right then.

Fortunately for her, Roger appreciated the gesture more than Brian did. ‘That sounds lovely, Mrs. May,’ he said, bringing the smile back to Ruth’s face.

‘I’ll cut you a piece of it,’ Ruth said and stood up to walk over to the kitchen, but Brian prevented her from going anywhere.

‘No mom, I’ll go. You sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ Brian hastily said, both because it was not exactly appropriate to have your visitors serve you instead of the other way around, and because he suddenly remembered that the kitchen was still in a state of chaos, since he had stopped tidying halfway, to save their pottery and the rest of their furniture in general from Roger’s well-meant but poorly-executed attempt to vacuum the living room. Unfortunately for him, his mother insisted on it, so they both went into the kitchen, Brian avoiding his mother’s probing eyes when he quickly stacked the kitchenware they had been using that morning and put it in the sink to create space to make some tea and cut both her and their own cake. 

When casually yet sternly asked why the dishes hadn’t been done, Brian decided to tell her that they had been rather busy with preparing for their guests the evening before, purposefully leaving out the part that Roger had been trying to cook that morning. His mother was even more overprotective of his blind boyfriend than Brian was himself, and she certainly wouldn’t have been able to laugh about the whole story of Roger sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night, collecting the ingredients needed for pancakes, and coming dangerously close to the fire that had been the reason for multiple first aid-visits already, all of which without Brian even noticing. His mother fortunately accepted the made-up story and asked no more questions, instead focussing on dividing the tea into four cups;  three porcelain cups for her son, husband and herself, and a double-handed stoneware cup for Roger, whom they had decided, after multiple tea-related blisters and burns, could better not be given a delicate, breakable cup.

‘Roger, dear, would you like some sugar in your tea?’ Ruth asked loudly enough for the drummer in the other room to hear her.

‘Just a little, thank you,’ Roger interrupted his conversation with Harold shortly to answered Brian’s mother politely, not aware of the fact that Ruth took the opportunity to drop not one, but four sugar cubes in Roger’s cup.

‘Mom, since when is four sugar cubes your definition of ‘just a little’?’ Brian asked as he saw the multiple lumps of sugar disappear into the steaming hot liquid.

‘Since he can definitely use some sugar. Look how thin he’s gotten overtime!’ Ruth whispered back at Brian, who couldn’t help chuckling – it was so typically his mother to worry about Roger’s weight loss and trying to do something about it herself. She had always tried to do the same to him as well; Brian knew she found him way too skinny and always tried to convince him to eat some more, which was possibly the reason why she always tried to feed them cake, cookies, sweets, chocolate, or whatever more she could find, knowing neither of them could refuse her home-made treats both out of politeness and because they really did taste great.

‘I know, mom, we’re working on it. He’s going to be fine,’ Brian promised her, answering a few worried questions regarding Roger’s current weight and his eating habits, even listening to her request of cutting Roger a larger piece of both cakes. He knew Roger was never going to eat all of it, but he did it just to soothe her nerves.   

The moment they walked back to the living room, the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of Freddie and John, who, after a short moment of greeting everyone and wish their friend a happy birthday, were all told to sit down and be served with both tea, apple pie, and chocolate cake all at the same time by Brian’s mother, who had now taken over the role of host completely. Brian simply let her, knowing she preferred it this way, and sat down on the sofa, right next to Roger, feeling the eternal need to keep an eye on him, especially now that that potentially dangerous cup of tea was standing on the side table right next to the sofa.

Luckily, Roger didn’t seem to feel the need to reach out to the burning hot tea yet; Freddie, John, Harold and he were way too absorbed in a conversation about cars to even think about his beverage. It was a subject Roger and Harold knew a lot about, John a little, and Freddie, who didn’t even own a driver’s licence, hardly anything, yet still tried his best to keep up with the conversation for Roger’s sake. Brian, happy to see how well friends and family dealt with Roger, simply leant back on the sofa, threw an arm around lover’s shoulder, and let the rest of the men entertain his boyfriend while he started eating cake. Upon seeing his mother casting worried glances towards Roger when he hadn’t eaten for a while due to the busy conversation, Brian put down his own plate and started feeding Roger small bites of cake and gave him sips of his overly sugared drink. He chuckled softly as Roger couldn’t hide a grimace after the first swig of sickly sweet tea that he probably regretted instantly.

‘What happened to this tea, Bri?’ Roger whispered between two coughs.

‘I’m sorry, it’s my mother. You know how she is,’ Brian whispered in Roger’s ear, and Roger nodded, taking a deep breath before downing half of his cup of tea at once. Brian gave a rub over Roger’s back, wordlessly thanking him for simply drinking the tea without complaining, even though he knew Roger would never have the heart to brush off anything Ruth gave him anyway, no matter how awfully sugared it was.

When everyone had finished their cake and drinks – that was, as much as they could – it was Harold who proposed the idea of giving out the presents everybody had brought for Brian, something Brian gladly agreed on. He was more than happy with the new watch he had requested and which his parents had bought for him; the wristband of the old one was so worn-out that Brian constantly feared it would literally tear in half and drop to the floor, along with the rest of his watch – which Brian wouldn’t exactly have minded either, in all honesty. The thing was so outdated that he always kept it under the sleeve of his shirt, not wanting anyone to see the hopelessly old-fashioned yet indestructible nonentity. Long story short, he was glad he could finally throw away the watch he had been wearing since the second year of university, and replace it with this new one.

After that, he received a new coat from his mother, who had been telling him he needed a new one for approximately two years and who had probably decided that his birthday was a great opportunity to find a perfect replica of the old and worn-out black winter coat Brian refused to let go of; Freddie and John gave him one of the ‘nerdy books,’ as Freddie called them, he had asked for, along with tickets for the cinema for the four of them that evening. This was quite a surprise to Brian; going to the movies was something they had discussed, but he had figured that he should pay, since it had been his proposal. But the biggest surprise was when he thought he had unwrapped every gift and wanted to thank everyone again, but instead was interrupted by his partner.

‘I’ve also got a little present for you,’ Roger suddenly disclosed softly, and Brian looked up.

‘Really?’ he asked, not having expected this. He had rather expected the opposite, given that it had crossed his mind one time that it would be pretty impossible for Roger to sneak out and find him a present without being able to see what it was. Brian would not at all have minded not getting a present from Roger, but he surely appreciated the fact that Roger had been thinking about him.

‘Of course. It’s your birthday, I can hardly give you nothing, now can I?’ Roger asked with a bit of a timid smile. ‘John? Freddie?’

‘He told us you would undoubtedly find it if he hid it somewhere in your house,’ John snickered while diving into the same plastic bag and producing a thin, square item wrapped up in gift paper,  to keep the object inside a surprise, even though Brian was pretty sure it was going to be a music album. John stood up and handed the album over to Roger, who, in his turn, handed it to Brian.

‘Happy birthday, baby,’ Roger whispered and got up on his knees, placed his hands on Brian’s shoulders, and leant in to hesitantly peck both his cheeks, topping it off with a kiss on Brian’s lips.

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled. He opened the envelope and folded open the card, his smile growing even brighter when Roger’s boyish stationery caught his eyes. He hadn’t seen Roger write for quite some time, but he immediately recognised the handwriting to be his – it was a bit shakier than it used to be, and he naturally had not exactly managed to keep his words in between the small dotted lines that were supposed to make sure a sentence would not slope down towards the end, but none of this mattered to Brian – it was the message he cared about most.

_Dear, dear Brian, happy 28 th birthday, and hopefully many years to go! _

_I bought this present with Freddie a while ago, so I hope he’s been telling me the truth about what it is, because I couldn’t see it myself!_

_Lots of love, Roger_

‘Thank you, baby,’ Brian smiled brightly as he carefully placed the card back in the envelope again, since he certainly planned on saving this precious piece of paper.

‘Don’t thank me yet – we’ve yet to find out if Freddie’s been speaking the truth!’ Roger answered, to which Freddie snickered.

‘Darling, there might be a lot I’m capable of, but ruining the trust of my blind friend isn’t one of those things,’ he comforted Roger jokingly. Brian, in the meantime, was carefully tearing the wrapping paper off his present, hardly able to contain his excitement when the title of the album – _The Jimi Hendrix Experience and Otis Redding: Historic Performances at the Monterey International Pop Festival_ – caught his eyes. He tore off the rest of the blue paper faster than before, carelessly tossing it aside once he had ripped it off so he had both hands available to smooth them over his newly-acquired album.

‘Darling, this is amazing! Thank you so much!’ Brian smiled brightly, studying both sides of the vinyl extensively. ‘This album was only released in the US! where did you find this?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to find you an album you didn’t have yet, so I phoned some record stores to ask them if they had any live albums of Jimi Hendrix, and when they did, I got Freddie and John to drag me to it that day you dropped me off at their place when you had to go to the dentist,’ Roger told him, his blue eyes gleaming boldly when he recited the well-thought-out plan.

 _‘That’s_ why you didn’t want to come with me that day, and why the phone bill was higher than usual last month! You sly little bastard!’ Brian laughed, ruffling Roger’s hair.

‘But wait, it gets better,’ Roger said excitedly, reaching over and folding open the cover of the album. ‘I can’t see where, but it’s said that somewhere here-’ he started, but was soon interrupted by Brian.

‘Is this… and this here… the signatures of…’ Brian asked in disbelief, smoothing his fingers most carefully over the inside of the record sleeve.

‘Of Noel Redding and Mitch Mitchell, yes,’ Roger confirmed. ‘Jimi Hendrix wasn’t around anymore when this record was being produced, but I thought you’d like it anyway-’

‘You thought I’d like anyway? I love it!’ Brian cried out, using his free hand to crush Roger into a hug while smothering his face with kisses, Roger crying out in delight towards Brian’s attack of love. ‘This is amazing, this is so great... How did you ever afford this?’ Brian suddenly wondered.

‘They probably didn’t know, otherwise they never would have sold it to us for the price we paid for it!’ Freddie snickered, which seemed to comfort Brian; they all knew he didn’t feel comfortable when people spent a lot of money on him, so hearing that they hadn’t paid the amount of money the album probably was worth, was a relief to him and a reason to keep being excited about it.

‘Oh, this is so great… I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to listen to it for a moment,’ Brian said, giving Roger one more kiss before getting up and making his way over to the record player in the corner of the room, carefully releasing the new LP from the sleeve and placing it on the turntable.

‘Well, if Brian goes to listen to his new record, I think it’s about time we go, Harold,’ Ruth said as she gestured for her husband to get up as well, before turning to her son. ‘Have fun today, dear. Have you already packed everything? Are you ready to go?’ Ruth asked, catching the attention of Roger.

‘Go where? The movie is tonight, right?’ Roger asked, as could have been expected, and all people present in the room apart from the puzzled drummer shared a smile.

‘It is, but we’re going to do something else now. You’ll see,’ Freddie told him mysteriously, but Roger seemed rather sceptic about this answer.

‘Are you sure I’ll _‘see’_?’ he asked him, to which Freddie rolled his eyes.

‘You’ll _notice_ , is that better?’ Freddie corrected himself.

‘No, because I want to know it _now_ ,’ Roger said, even though he could feel right away that whatever they had in mind to do that day was supposed to be a surprise, and that no one was going to tell him what it was until they had gotten there. He tried to guess their destination or activity a few times, but all he received in reply were stubborn and unrelenting ‘you’ll notice’s’ time after time, so he eventually gave up.

By the time this happened, Brian was trying to let his parents out, but this of course didn’t happen before he had answered the usual questions his mother had for him (‘Be careful with Roger today, don’t leave him alone for even a moment’ ‘We’ll stay with him, mom’; ‘Try on your new coat and tell me if it fits, otherwise I’ll take it in for you a bit’ ‘Yes, I’ll let you know’; ‘Make sure Roger eats the rest of his cake before you leave’ ‘Sure, mom,’ Brian said, this last promise with his fingers crossed behind his back, since he surely wasn’t going to force Roger to eat the excessive amount of pastries his mother had given him). It was his father who eventually practically forced her to step over the treshold and thus gave Brian the opportunity to close the front door, probably sensing that if he didn’t, the four men probably wouldn’t be able to leave the house all day.

The band, now being on their own, took a moment to appreciate the new record, before Roger was starting to get so curious to know what they were going to do, that they decided that it was better to go. Brian took the bags out of the wardrobe closet where he had hidden them; he had packed them the day before, sitting right next to Roger at the kitchen table without him even noticing what he was doing. This was one of those moments when Brian realised that having a blind boyfriend also had its merits; preparing surprises was a lot easier now that Roger wouldn’t buss around him all day, tear whatever he had in hands away from him, and most of all, since he could easily lie about what he was going, given that Roger couldn’t check if he had speaking the truth anyway.

By the time they had all put on their shoes and gotten ready to go outside, Roger was practically dragging them towards the car, which at last seemed to have an effect on them. They all stepped into Brian’s car – Brian behind the steering wheel, John next to him, leaving Freddie to sit with a very curious Roger in the back of the car. Luckily, the car trip didn’t last all too long, otherwise Brian would have feared Roger’s endless stream of questions regarding what they were going to do and if they were already almost there would have driven them out of their minds. He was therefore glad when he could park the car at the parking lot about an hour later, and that he was finally able to tell Roger they were at their destination.

‘Roger? We have arrived,’ Brian said, causing Roger to immediately detach the seatbelt and swing open the car door; Brian could only hope that the people next to them hadn’t parked their car too closely to theirs, because if they had, both their _ánd_ their own car door probably would have been beyond rescue, considering the force Roger used to push open the door.

‘Where are we?’ Roger asked again when he was standing outside.

‘You’ll find out soon enough. We’ll first have to walk for a moment,’ Brian said as they all got out and collected their bags from the car boot.

‘Come on, let’s go,’ Roger said impatiently before they had even managed to figure out which way to walk, not exactly in the mood to fiddle around much longer. When the others didn’t move on fast enough to his liking, he decided to go by himself, but he was immediately halted by Brian, who naturally didn’t let him slip out of his sight for even a split second.

‘Stay here! Don’t walk into anyone, it’s rather crowded here,’ Brian warned, hooking his fingers through one of the belt loops of the back Roger’s jeans to make sure he couldn’t walk away. ‘My oh my, would you calm down for a second, you little troublemaker?’ he laughed.

‘If we go now, I’ll try,’ Roger promised, to which they all agreed. They made their way along the bricks of the parking lot, which led to a narrow shell-covered path, and eventually ended up walking along a broader road, following the crowd of foreign tourists, young families, groups of teenagers, elderly couples, and whoever more had decided that the mildly warm weather gave them one of those spare opportunities to spend the day at the English seashore.

Looking out over the water, the sand, the pier, the tiny dots in the distance that represented the visitors, along with the towels, beach tents, tip-up chairs, cool boxes, and whatever more they had brought with them, made Brian feel a wave of nostalgia coming up. He had been here countless times with family when he had been a child, with friend during his teenage years, and later with the band when they wanted to escape the pressure of working together in the studio all day and all night, if necessary. He hadn’t thought they would ever return to this place, at least not with his usual company, until his father brought up the plan when they had been discussing what to do for his and Roger’s birthday. His mother was not exactly in favour of the plan (‘It’s irresponsible, Brian! What if you lose him there, between all those people? Or even worse, close to the water? Or even _in_ the water?!’), but she eventually was at peace with the idea when Freddie and John offered to go with them _and_ after Brian had solemnly promised to keep his eyes on Roger no matter what.

And here they were, standing at the side of the road, ready to cross over to the beach, and Brian nodded softly to himself. ‘It’s good to be back here,’ he sighed, which was backed up by Freddie and John, but questioned by their drummer, who still hadn’t figured out where they were.

‘Guys, _please_ , just tell me!’ Roger was begging by now, and Freddie, John and Brian shared a glance,  before Brian crouched down on the side of the road, pulling his boyfriend down with him.

‘Does this feel familiar to you?’ Brian asked as he took Roger’s hand and lowered it to the ground right in front of them, letting their fingertips slip through the moist, granular sand of the beach.

‘Is this… sand? Is this the beach?’ Roger correctly guessed, looking up at Brian, and one look at his already overexcited smile was enough for Brian to make the preparation time, the discussions for permission with both his and Roger’s parents, and whole road towards this place worth the effort.

‘Welcome back to Brighton!’ Freddie chanted, and Roger got up again.

‘No way! Really?’ he asked Brian, who confirmed Freddie’s statement and was rewarded with a hug from Roger, who clung to him as if it was both the first and the last time they were going to hug. ‘Bri, this is amazing! Thank you so much!’ he shouted loudly enough for anyone within a radius of ten metres around them to hear. Brian did not care that practically all people in the aforementioned area turned around and looked at them; all he could focus on was Roger’s body against his, the excitement in his voice and smile, and the realisation of how much he loved his boyfriend.

‘Come on, we have to find a place!’ Roger said when he pulled away from Brian, who glanced around the beach once more. There sure were a lot of people, but given that the summer hadn’t reached its maximum temperatures yet, it wasn’t as crowded as they knew it could sometimes be – there was still plenty of space available. When those rare 30-degrees days would hit the country, you could better stay away from the beach if you didn’t want to drown in a sea of sweaty, moody, and overheated people. Today, with its mild twenty degrees, was a bit on the cold side, but given that it had been this temperature for a few days in a row, the waters was warm enough to swim in, and they surely preferred cold water to having to share lukewarm water with the whole of England.

They found a place that was pretty close to the water, yet far away enough to not have to worry about the possibility of their bags and towels being flooded once the high tide would set in. Brian, Freddie and John could simply strip out of their clothes, since they were already wearing their swimming trunks underneath their regular clothing. Brian took Roger to a dressing room at the side of the road, since Roger of course hadn’t gotten the opportunity to change back home, given that he did not know they were going to swim in the first place. The pair of dark blue swimming trunks he always used to wear now turned out to be more than just a little too big, but Brian managed to pull the waistband  a bit tighter with the laces, at least tightly enough to not have to worry about the garment coming off when Roger would jump into the water. They made their way back to the place where Freddie and John were waiting for them to drop off their clothes and other items one could better not take with them in the water.

‘The weather is fine, isn’t it? Not too hot, not too cold…’ John said, but Roger wasn’t in for small talk.

‘Come on! I want to go!’ Roger said, but Brian caught his wrist between his fingers.

‘Hold on! Sunscreen first,’ he told him fatherly, and Roger sighed.

‘The sun isn’t even shining that brightly!’ he objected.

‘That’s what it looks like because of the clouds. When they vanish, your skin will burn in no time. Come here,’ Brian told him sternly, to which Roger obeyed. He impatiently waited for Brian to bring out the bottle of sunscreen, quickly covered himself with the white lotion, then rolled his eyes when Brian insisted on giving his body a second round, since he had missed a lot of spots in his hurry.

‘Okay, now listen to me,’ Brian said when he had put the bottle away again, placing both hands on Roger’s shoulders. ‘You’re staying with us the whole time. Don’t go anywhere without telling us. And don’t go into the water any deeper than your hips.’

‘Only my hips?’ Roger said, sounding a bit disappointed by this safety measure.

‘Maybe your waist, if you behave,’ Brian said, giving Roger’s nose a soft flick, after which he grabbed his hand. ‘I think we’re finally ready to go.’

This was a statement Roger did not need to hear twice; Brian was only just able to decently guide his boyfriend along the beach without stepping on other seaside visitors, tip-up chairs, or sandcastles without him molesting any of those aforementioned things in his state of hurry, and safely make it to the place where the coastline, where the low waves of blue-greyish water spilled over the sand, before pulling back to repeat the action again a little after. The water looked calm and the waves were hardly worth being called waves, which was something Brian was happy about; it made swimming possible, it made it easier to look after Roger, and it probably was a lot more pleasant for Roger, who couldn’t see a thing, to not be overrun by waves larger than himself every other minute.

Even though the sea wasn’t as cold as it usually was, it was still a bit of a jolt when the cold water came in touch with their bodies; especially Roger, who hadn’t seen it coming, shrieked a bit when the first wave of water splashed over his bare feet, and he clung onto Brian.

‘We’ll get used to it once we stay in it a little longer,’ the guitarist promised, tugging Roger along with him as he stepped a little deeper into the water. He felt bad when his partner was shivering all over, but soon enough, they were indeed getting used to it. When they were standing into the water deeply enough to make it cover their lower legs, Roger was the first one to find the courage to kneel down in the water and cover his whole body all at once.

‘Roger, dear, isn’t that way too cold?’ Freddie asked when Roger stood up again, but the drummer shook his head.

‘It’s fine! Come on, you just have to go for it,’ he insisted, but when no one seemed to be convinced, he simply pressed his cold, wet body against Brian’s completely opposite one to get his way.

‘Damnit, Roger!’ Brian cried out at the cold touch of Roger’s arms and chest against his body, but he unfortunately didn’t let go of him; he instead held him even tighter. When he eventually managed to struggle free from Roger’s hands, Brian was desperate for revenge for this act of mischief of his boyfriend’s. ‘You bloody tease, come here!’ Brian ordered as he took matters in his own hands, quite literally; he swung an arm around the back of Roger’s knees and hauled the objecting drummer out of the water, only to carry him further into the sea and – be it carefully – drop him into it there.

‘Ah! Brian!’ Roger whimpered when his body came in touch with the cold water again, momentarily fearing complete submersion, but Brian didn’t actually let him fall back that far, not wanting to permanently ruin the trust Roger had put in him.

‘That should teach you,’ Brian laughed. Roger splashed and splattered around in the water in an attempt not to sink, probably not even noticing that Brian had never let go of him; even when he’d thrown him into the water, there hadn’t been a single second he had even considered taking his hands off Roger’s body. Brian could therefore easily hoist him back up his feet again when he decided he had been punished enough for his insolence.

‘Darling, you didn’t think I would really drop you, now did you?’ Brian asked, to which Roger blushed a little. Brian looked around for a bit to see if no one was paying attention to them in particular, before he leant in for a quick kiss on Roger’s cheek. ‘Of course not. I’ll always catch you,’ he promised, which earned him a hug that was not at all unpleasant now that they were both soaked with cold seawater.

By the time Brian and Roger had waded back to the place where Freddie and John were standing, the couple had at attempted to get used to the water –  that was, John had completely dived into it, while Freddie had just been throwing some water over his arms and torso before deciding that it was too cold to his liking. They continued fooling around for a bit – swimming, diving, splashing around (and mainly on each other), and keeping a close eye on Roger, who continued to walk the wrong way and ended up way deeper into the water than just his hips. Freddie eventually decided that he wanted to warm his body up a little and Brian needed a second to recover from constantly having Roger cling onto him. John and Roger weren’t planning on going back to the shore, though, so John offered to look after Roger. Brian wasn’t so sure about this plan, but John’s promise that they wouldn’t go into the sea as deeply as before, in combination with Roger’s puppy eyes that continued to have more effect on Brian than he was willing to admit, he eventually agreed.

‘Behave, okay? Listen to what John tells you to do and don’t go too deep,’ Brian ordered, which Roger solemnly promised. But just as the frontman and he had walked back to the shore and sat down on the towels they had spread out in the sand, they looked up to find that John was already having troubles trying to make Roger stay with him.

‘Roger, stay with John! Or do I have to come over?’ Brian shouted, and Roger looked into his direction, shaking his head firmly – he probably understood that Brian coming over would likely mean the end of the fun, so he slowed down and finally let John guide him back to the water.

‘ _’’Of course I’ll listen!’’_ ’ Freddie mimicked the words Roger had spoken just half a minute ago, and Brian chuckled softly.

‘Seriously, I’m going to put him on a leash someday,’ Brian sighed, but he couldn’t hide the smile that tugged on the corner of his lips. After months of silence and a lack of motivation to do anything, he was happy that Roger finally started enjoying life again, even if this meant he would have to chase after him all day long.

‘It surprises me that you haven’t done that already. Knowing you, I thought you would have chained him up by now,’ Freddie teased, fishing a pair of sunglasses out of his bag. This was no unnecessary luxury at all; the clouds had largely disappeared and the sun was starting to shine brighter, making the both of them have to squint in order to keep track on their boyfriends.

‘I wish I could, but at the same time, I know he needs freedom to rediscover the world around him, even if it drives me out of my mind at times,’ Brian said, then snickered a bit. ‘You know that phase when toddlers find out they can do the things their parents do for them themselves, and therefore insist on doing those things themselves no matter what? I feel like that’s where he is right now.’

‘Oh Lord, that describes him perfectly,’ Freddie agreed with a smile, the both of them watching when John pulled a disappointed Roger away from the section of water Brian had deemed to be too deep.

‘This morning, for example. He sneaked out of bed at around fifteen to five to bake pancakes for breakfast,’ Brian told him, no longer capable of keeping the precious story to himself.

‘Did he?’ Freddie asked in amusement.

‘I  was terrified when I couldn’t find him, but he was in the kitchen, both the countertop and himself covered in milk and flour and God knows what more. It was a complete chaos,’ Brian laughed.

‘Oh, he’s such a troublemaker…’ Freddie sighed. ‘But I’m sure he meant well.’

‘That’s the whole problem. Whatever he does, no matter how stupid or dangerous it is, he always means well,’ Brian said, giving a nod towards his boyfriend, who was now sitting on his knees just before the water, picking seashells out of the sand under the watchful eye of John. ‘Look at him. I couldn’t put him on a leash or chain him up if I wanted to.’

‘I’m with you,’ Freddie agreed. ‘By the way, how are his braille classes going?’

‘Very well, actually. He’s started group classes, since he possesses enough basic knowledge of the braille alphabet. He seems to enjoy it a lot, being with people who know what he’s going through.’

‘That’s amazing, Brian. I told you it would do him good,’ Freddie said, casually reminding him of the fact that it had been his idea to ‘send Roger back to school’, as he had called it, to give him something to do, some sense of purpose, when he had been feeling miserable months ago. It surely had helped both Roger and Brian to pick up their lives again; it gave Roger something to focus on, something exciting to learn, and it gave Brian a bit of time for himself a few days a week.

‘You were right, we should’ve started those classes way earlier,’ Brian admitted, after which they chatted a bit about the institution Roger was going to and the progress he had been making. They eventually returned to the beach to admire the sandcastle Roger and John had been working on, after which Brian insisted that Roger should pull on his shirt again to avoid the sunburn he feared would set in if he was to expose his bare back and torso to the sun any longer. Roger wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea of having to leave their project behind, but gave in when Freddie proposed getting ice cream. While Freddie and John took care of that promise at the nearest ice cream van, Brian sat Roger down on their towels and manoeuvred a shirt over his head.

‘Are you having fun, darling?’ he asked once they had settled down, and Roger nodded.

‘Yes, Bri, very much,’ he said, snuggling closer against Brian. ‘I just wish I could still see what everything looks like,’ he admitted softly, and Brian, taking this as a hint, started describing their surroundings to him, like he always did. Roger listened amusedly to his animated stories about the sea, the sand, the pier, and mainly  about the people around them. Freddie and John returned with ice cream cones, which they gladly accepted. They hadn’t had ice cream in ages, and before too long, Brian remembered _why_ they hadn’t; in no time, Roger had somehow managed to get strawberry ice cream all over his chin and nose and even his arms, the pink substance looking even worse than the huge smear of batter that had been across his cheek that morning.

‘Roger, your ice cream is all over the place,’ Brian chuckled as he wiped it off with a towel, nevertheless not able to get rid of the stickiness the sweet substance had left behind on Roger’s skin. ‘I think you’ll have to get back into the water to clean it off.’

‘Oh, what a shame,’ Roger chuckled, not at all seeming to mind this when soon after, the whole band got back to the sea for a second round of swimming. They didn’t stay in the water for as long as the first time, given that the sun having disappeared behind the clouds made it cooler than before, but they surely made use of the now less crowded sea before they headed back to the beach again. Brian wrapped a shivering Roger up in a towel and lay down next to him on the beach, hoping to catch a bit of sunlight now that the sun had reappeared from its previous position behind the clouds.

It was John who eventually informed them about the time and who told them that they should make their way back to London if they wanted to be on time for the movie they had planned to see. Brian looked over at Roger, of whom he could not exactly tell if he was just nuzzling or actually sleeping, wondering if it was a good idea to still go to the cinema at this point. Roger clearly was exhausted and probably preferred going to bed over going to ‘watch’ a movie he couldn’t actually see. But when asked if he wanted to go home, Roger dazedly looked up and refused the offer, saying that he didn’t want to take away their opportunity to see a film. Since Brian didn’t trust Roger to stay at home alone while they were away, they simply got dressed, packed their bags, walked to their car, and drove back to their hometown again.

Brian hoped Roger would catch up some sleep in the car, but he didn’t fall asleep on their way back to London; he was looking out of the window with half-opened eyes, yet he never really closed them for a longer period than maybe half a minute. He was quiet and didn’t contribute much to their conversation, but when Brian looked at him through the rear view mirror a couple of times, he saw a small smile playing on his lips, which was all he needed to see to know he didn’t have to worry about his partner. By the time they got out of the car, his level of energy had not exactly been refuelled like Brian had been hoping, but he didn’t say anything about it and simply let his friends take him to the cinema. They made it right in time for the movie they had selected; some popular all-ages movie that was said not to be too heavy, given that loud sound effects would not be the best idea with Roger around, as he couldn’t see anything coming and therefore would probably be rather frightened by sudden noise.

Though Freddie and John protested against the idea, Brian insisted on buying the popcorn and drinks for all of them, saying that they had already paid way too much by buying the movie tickets. They sat down somewhere in the back of the half-empty theatre, where they couldn’t help starting to munch on their popcorn right away, given that they had skipped dinner in their hurry to make it on time. Roger, who had curled up into his red velvet chair as much as possible, gladly accepted the handfuls of popcorn either Brian or John would give him every now and then. The commercials faded into the beginning of the movie, and Brian could tell that they were instantly irritating people around them by keeping Roger up-to-date regarding what was going on on the screen. Luckily, the unexpected yet fairly effective ‘shut up, he’s blind, how is he supposed to know what’s going on if we don’t tell him?’-comment John made when the people in the row in front of them turned around to reproachfully look at them, was enough to still the angry whispers.

During the rest of the film, Brian kept whispering some additional information to Roger and handed him popcorn, until about halfway the movie, he noticed that Roger wasn’t reacting to him touching his hand to carry out this last mentioned action. He looked up and immediately found the cause of Roger’s immovability: he had fallen asleep.

Brian reached over to touch John’s shoulder to catch the bassist’s attention. ‘I think we might as well have picked a movie that had a _little bit_ more action in it,’ he whispered with a nod towards his sleeping boyfriend, causing John to almost spit out the sip of soda he had just taken. Freddie took a look at their drummer as well, and besides also finding it rather funny, he seemed to feel the same endearment Brian felt when he looked at Roger’s curled-up body, chest raising and falling slightly, head resting against the back of the chair, fingers curled into a fist to cling onto a few pieces of popcorn Brian had given him when he had still been awake. Brian pushed the handrail between their seats down to create space, throwing an arm around Roger’s body and pulling the drummer closer towards himself. Roger didn’t stir; he soundlessly continued sleeping, looking so cute and so vulnerable in his state of unconsciousness that Brian hardly had the heart to wake him up once the movie was over and most of the people started leaving the theatre.

‘Is he still sleeping?’ Freddie asked after having downed the last of his coke, and Brian nodded, putting his hand on Roger’s shoulder to wake him.

‘Wake up, darling,’ Brian said to a now half-asleep Roger, who clearly fought against the tendency to open his eyes and instead tried to ignore his lover’s attempt to wake him up. Luckily, after a bit more persistence and after having his shoulder shaken a bit more forceful than before, he eventually gave in to being awoken, only to hear voices talking about the movie they had just seen, and footsteps moving away from them, meaning that people were departing the room.

‘Hm… Where is everyone going? What did I miss?’ Roger yawned.

‘What you missed? You missed most of the movie!’ Brian snickered.

‘What?’ Roger asked dazedly, clumsily propping himself up into a more decent sitting position instead of the way he had been slumping half over the chair.

‘Okay, I’ll admit that this was not the most spectacular movie we’ve ever seen, but you could at _least_ have stayed awake for the sake of common decency, now couldn’t you?’ Freddie teased, them ruffled Roger’s hair when the drummer blushed and stammered an excuse. ‘I’m just joking, dear. I think it’s rather time we bring you home,’ he proposed, which was a suggestion none of them was willing to decline, especially Roger himself not, who nodded obediently and let the others take him outside, and with that, finally back home.

# # #

‘So, we’re home again,’ Brian announced when he closed the door of their house behind him. He had just shared a few words of gratefulness with Freddie and John to thank them for coming with them that day, who in their turn had thanked him for inviting them in the first place, after which they had parted ways and agreed to meet up in the studio the next day. He wasn’t sure if Roger had been noticing all of this; he was so weak by this time that Brian had to hold him as firmly as possible, positive that if he didn’t, Roger was most likely to drop to the pavement in front of their home. Luckily, they were inside now, where Brian could softly push Roger’s weak body against the wall of the hallway to give him support while he crouched down and undid the laces of his sneakers, feeling like it was going to take an eternity if he would let him to this himself; Roger, in his state of tiredness, didn’t even complain about Brian doing something trivial like this for him for this once.

‘Let’s go upstairs, let’s get you to bed,’ Brian said, smiling when Roger, after a few clumsy movements in free air to locate the place of his body, threw his arms around his neck and clung onto him like a small child would do when having found the parent he had lost at the grocery story, refusing to let go of him. Luckily, Brian knew exactly what Roger was trying to achieve and what he had to do; he carefully detached him from his body and skilfully threw him over his shoulder, carrying him upstairs. He had wanted to do this earlier that evening, when Roger had just woken up and was staggering rather than walking the moment they got out of the cinema, but he had eventually chosen not to, both because it wasn’t exactly convenient in to carry him to their car the crowded streets of London, and because he knew Roger wouldn’t be in favour of the plan. It felt like it was something private to them; it was something Brian would do in those rare moments when the drummer would fall asleep on the sofa when they were home alone, when no one else was around, like right now.

Brian put Roger back on his feet again at the top of the stairs again and guided him over to the bathroom, where he lifted him up once more to sit him down on the white countertop next to the sink. He ran a hand through his boyfriend’s messy, blond hair, only now seeing how much sand had gotten into it during their trip to the beach. He couldn’t send him off to braille class next morning looking like this, but he was sure Roger wasn’t in the mood for showering after having taken a bath _and_ having floated around in the sea for multiple hours, so Brian decided to set the alarm clock a little earlier for tomorrow to let him shower then and make sure he still looked presentable. Brian knew it wouldn’t matter to the other braille class participants anyway, but he didn’t want the teachers to get the idea that Roger wasn’t being looked after properly.

The guitarist tried to brush most of the sand away by ruffling Roger’s hair, but eventually gave up and moved on to the other bedtime rituals that had to be carried out, starting with brushing their teeth.

‘Look, here’s your toothbrush. I already put the toothpaste on it,’ Brian said, but Roger was rather reluctant about getting the object pushed into the palm of his hand.

‘Do I _have_ to brush my teeth?’ he pouted.

‘Yes, you do. We haven’t eaten this much sweets in quite a while,’ Brian said while drenching his own toothbrush in water.

Roger smiled softly. ‘Your mother will be pleased to hear that.’

‘I’m sure she will be,’ Brian snickered. Roger didn’t put as much time and energy into brushing his teeth as he usually would have done, but, being tired himself, Brian simply let it go for this once. He helped Roger undress, wash his face, made him drink a glass of water, and was glad to finally be able to bring him to the bedroom after all of that.

Upon arriving in their bedroom, Brian discovered that it wasn’t even half past nine yet; they had purposefully chosen the earliest moment to go see their movie to make sure Roger (and the rest of them as well, in all honesty) wouldn’t be worn out the day after. Still, Brian felt like he had been up all night when he was finally able to kick off his trousers, throw his shirt somewhere in the corner of the room, and follow Roger’s example of slipping into bed.

‘God, what a day,’ he said as he rubbed his tired eyes, exchanging the bright overhead lightning in their bedroom for the faint glow of his nightlight.

‘I’ve never been this tired,’ Roger mumbled in reply, pulling the duvets a little tighter around his body. Brian couldn’t stand the sight of his boyfriend, who, even though already being covered by multiple layers of blankets, still insisted on drawing more warmth to his body in the middle of July. He knew Roger was often feeling cold, but instead of seeing him wrap himself up in a tangle of sheets and blankets, Brian preferred to keep him warm himself by wrapping his arms around him.

‘Shall I phone Cynthia? Tell her you won’t come to braille class tomorrow?’ Brian offered while crawling closer to Roger and hooking both arms around whose waist, even though he already knew the answer to his question; Roger wouldn’t want to miss out on his classes for the world, no matter how tired he was.

‘No, I’ll be fine in the morning,’ Roger yawned, burying his head in Brian’s chest. There was a short silence in the bedroom, before he said: ‘I had a lot of fun today, Bri.’

‘I was hoping so,’ Brian answered, running his hand through Roger’s hair. ‘You looked very happy.’

‘I am very happy in general. You might not always notice it, but… I’m very happy when I’m with you,’ Roger confessed, bringing his face up for a hesitant but loving kiss against what ended up to be Brian’s jawline. The whole business made the guitarist’s heart melt; Roger used to be the one who would always hug him at random moments and sneak kisses whenever possible, but since he had gotten blind, he was a lot more reserved about displaying affection. This was why Brian absolutely lived for these moments when Roger would lean in and give him a somewhat quick, somewhat clumsy, but always well-meant kiss, which was like receiving a taste of past memories to Brian.

‘I’m also very happy when I’m with you, dear,’ Brian said as he returned the favour.

‘Even when you have to run after me at the beach because I keep walking away, and when the only kisses I can give you are lousy ones?’ Roger giggled a little.

‘Even then. _Especially_ then,’ Brian corrected himself. ‘Those things make you you. And I love you just because of who you are, with all your little tendencies and imperfections, although I’m sure you don’t have those.’ He was not surprised to look down and find that Roger was blushing; he never really knew what to say to such compliments, so Brian decided to help him out of his slightly awkward situation of not knowing how to answer by speaking up himself.

‘Shall we go to sleep, then?’ he proposed, feeling how Roger nodded against his chest. He reached over to switch off his nightlight, but Roger caught his attention halfway the movement.

‘Brian? Are we… are still going to celebrate my birthday? Or was this for the both of us?’ Roger asked ashamedly, as if he felt like he was asking for an enormous favour, whereas Brian thought of it as only logical that they were going to have a party for Roger’s 26th birthday as well.

‘Of course we are still going to celebrate your birthday. Or don’t you want to?’ Brian asked, now feeling slightly worried.

‘No, I do want to, I just thought that… since I was always the one who wanted to go to the beach, that that might have been my part of the deal,’ Roger said.

‘No, that’s not the case. Of course, we chose that because we know you love going to the beach, but you’ll be having your own birthday party, like we always did. I mean, we’ve already planned something to do for your birthday…’ Brian couldn’t help adding, a bit too excited about the plan to completely keep it to himself. His hand wandered off to the drawer of his nightstand, feeling the sudden urge to check if the papers and presents were still in there.

‘Really? Are we going somewhere?’ Roger asked curiously.

‘Aha,’ Brian hummed in confirmation, soundlessly opening the wooden drawer, feeling around until his fingers bumped up against the small pile of folded papers underneath a book he probably should have returned to the library weeks ago. He knew that hiding the papers served no other goal than soothing his own nerves, given that Roger wouldn’t mess around in his drawer in the first place, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to make up what the reservation papers and tickets said anyway; it was just that Brian planned on keeping the surprise a secret until the moment they actually arrived at their destination, just like they had done today.

‘Where are we going?’ Roger asked, unaware of his boyfriend’s current search for documents of which he did not know the very existence, and Brian smiled softly to himself. He had already planned activities for the whole day; family and friends were going to come over in the morning to give the presents they had bought for him. There were the usual LP’s and perfume and those kind of things, as well both practical and fun objects that fitted into Roger’s new lifestyle, such as a book in braille that John had managed to lay his hands on. Brian carefully let his fingers slip over the protective glass of the watch he had bought for Roger, inwardly praying that he would like it. It had taken some time and effort and money to order the watch, but certainly after this morning’s debacle, Brian hoped that the portable timepiece with embossed printing around the circular dial would solve the problem of Roger never knowing what time it was. He had already learned in braille class how to tell the time with a braille watch; he now just needed to have one on his own.

If they had done all of this, they were going karting, something Brian had promised Roger they were going to do a long time ago, before he had lost his vision. He had it all sorted out, phoned whoever owned the attraction to ask if it was both possible and permitted to go together in one kart so he could drive while Roger would just enjoy the experience, which turned out to be no problem. And if all that had been said and done, they were going to spare no expense and have a dinner  at a newly build Japanese restaurant just out of town.

Naturally, he couldn’t tell Roger any of this yet, because he wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise for the world. ‘I’m not telling you yet. It’s a surprise,’ Brian therefore told him mysteriously.

‘Ahw, please? Just give me a hint. One hint, please?’ Roger asked, and though his visionless eyes still managed to pull off the puppy eyes he always used to get his way, Brian managed to resist them for just this once, convincing himself that keeping it a surprise would be a lot more fun.

‘No, I’m not saying anything. You’ll see,’ Brian answered.

Roger, probably understanding that Brian wasn’t going to tell him – and being too tired to complain about it – ended up simply reminding Brian that he had used the wrong choice of words. ‘You might want to revise that sentence,’ Roger yawned.

Brian rolled his eyes, closing the drawer of his nightstand and switching off the nightlight for real this time, afterwards rolling over again and trying to find Roger’s lips in the black space that surrounded the both of them now. He liked to imagine that they were equal at night; equally oblivious to the visual appearance of their surroundings, equally helpless in the darkness that followed him only at night but Roger forever, equally dependant on each other for obtaining that feeling of love and safety they both longed for even more at night than they did during daytime.

Brian’s lips eventually found Roger’s, and they pressed them together for what was going to be the last kiss of that evening, which at the same time also traditionally was the longest kiss; a kiss that was soft, caring, a promise of the love and safety they found in each other. A kiss that was usually broken to whisper a last goodnight at each other, but tonight, Brian had other last words in mind.

‘You’ll _notice_.’

 


	5. Chapter 4

Brian discretely glanced over at the radio alarm clock on the nightstand at the other side of the room, pleasantly surprised with the fact that it wasn’t even ten past ten yet. He had estimated it to be way later than only just past ten; they had gotten home from the studio at half past eight, which meant that their dinner was more than two hours delayed in comparison to their usual habit of eating at six o’clock. When he had gotten Roger to eat at least half of the spaghetti he had hastily prepared in the hope that he could let that pass for dinner, it had already been far past nine, while there still had been so much that yet had to be done. The kitchen had to be cleaned up, the dishes had to be done, the bed covers had to be changed, and most of all, he had to get Roger ready for bed, meaning he had to put him in bath, help him shave, and most of all, talk him into going to the bedroom. It had seemed like an impossible task to do in a matter of an hour, which was why it surprised Brian so much that he had managed to get all of it done so fast.

‘We’re early tonight. It’s not even ten past ten yet,’ Brian informed Roger, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress as he closed the last opened buttons of his shirt.

‘I’m sure that’s because I was being so brilliantly cooperative,’ Roger stated, giggling when Brian gave him a tap on the nose. They both knew that the drummer had not exactly been doing his best to quicken the whole process of cleaning around the house and getting ready for bed. In fact, with his preference for taking long baths and his incapability to keep water, soap, shaving foam, and similar liquid products where they _belonged_ instead of on the floor, on the mirror, and in various other unsuitable places, he had done quite the contrary, rather.

‘I personally think it’s because I was quick to clean the kitchen, because if I hadn’t done that in less than five minutes while the rest of the activities would just have taken as long as they did, I still would have been scrubbing toothpaste off the bathroom floor by now,’ Brian said.

‘I didn’t know you put your toothpaste where mine is supposed to be!’ Roger defended himself, the first hints of laughter audible in his voice. ‘You know that I have to squeeze very hard to get just a little toothpaste out of my tube, so when I thought I had my tube in hands, I did just that…’

‘… And squirted half of my new toothpaste all over the floor, thank you very much,’ Brian finished the sentence with a sigh. He tried to sound quasi-indignant to express the fact that he was not _exactly_ happy with the waste of perfectly good tube toothpaste, but he couldn’t rule out the smile that threatened to form on his face, especially not when Roger started biting down his lip to keep himself from laughing about the unfortunate but secretly highly amusing event. Brian was unwilling to fully admit that it had been funny, since the last thing he wanted was to encourage Roger to waste more of their personal hygiene products, be in intentional or unintentional. However, that smug little smile the unexpected source of amusement had brought onto his lover’s face turned out to be contagious.

‘Don’t laugh about it, will you? That was a brand new tube of toothpaste!’ Brian managed in between a few badly oppressed huffs of laughter, of which the sound course did not go unnoticed by Roger.

‘I know you’re laughing, too,’ Roger giggled, which was the last thing Brian needed to see to let his composure go and let his smile shine through.

‘Okay, you’ve got me. Of course I am laughing, you should’ve seen your own face the moment you realised you messed up!’ Brian told him, once again forgetting that Roger would always throw back at him for using the word ‘see’ in relation to him.

‘Sometimes I’m glad I can’t see, because I certainly don’t want to be confronted with how I must have looked in that particular moment,’ Roger chuckled, and Brian flashed him a both relieved yet painful smile. He was never entirely sure what he should do when Roger made comments about his blindness being useful. On one side, he was glad Roger was finally starting to accept his handicap as part of his life and that he was learning to live with it, but on the other side, no single advantage of being blind could ever live up to being able to visually perceive the world around you with proper eyesight. However, by looking at the small smile that lingered on Roger’s lips and the lively look in his eyes, Brian could immediately deduce that no such negativity was torturing his boyfriend at the moment. Roger’s comment was meant to be taken purely as a witty joke, and not as some kind of bitter, cynical, self-pitying remark so Brian decided to just laugh along with him to encourage him for finally starting to accept his fate.

‘So, time to sleep,’ the guitarist told Roger once their moment of laughter had passed, and the drummer was quick to lie back on the mattress. Brian was relief at Roger’s cooperativeness, happy that he could finally pull the duvets over his and his boyfriend’s bodies. He decided right then right there, as he did every night, that it was the best feeling ever to be able to lie down on freshly washed sheets, to feel your boyfriend’s clean-shaven cheek press against your own, to bury your face in his still slightly damp tresses, and simply enjoy being together after a long day of work.

But just when Brian was about to change his sitting position into a lying one and wanted to get Roger to do the same so he could enjoy all of the aforementioned sensations, it turned out that Roger had other plans in mind. As Brian wanted to lean over to switch off the nightlight, he felt two careful, slightly clumsy hands bumping up against his upper leg and trying to make their way towards whatever they were looking for – something Brian was soon going to find out.

‘Roger? What are you looking for?’ Brian asked, but he received no reply; Roger stayed perfectly quiet as his fingers crawled towards the inside of his thigh, causing Brian to start blushing slightly at the feeling these actions left behind in that specific area of his body. The thing was that he then, in his state of innocence, did not realise yet that it was not an accidentally miscoordinated action of his boyfriend, but a fully intentional attempt to get his fingers down to Brian’s nether regions.

‘Babe, whatever you’re looking for, I don’t think my inner thigh is going to be the place where you will find it,’ Brian chuckled while carefully removing Roger’s hand from the spot, but this pre-stage of laugher soon faded when Roger now finally spoke up.

‘I wouldn’t know where else to find it,’ Roger leisurely whispered back at him, and during the time it took Brian to understand the hidden meaning of this sentence, the drummer managed to place his hands on the hem of Brian’s boxer shorts.

‘What do you… Oh, no, no, that might not be a good idea,’ Brian hastily told his boyfriend as he picked up whose hands, which were just about to work their way down the elastic hemline of his underwear, and placed them back in Roger’s lap an held onto them for a moment, as if he was afraid Roger would try and move them back to the destination he had picked for them if Brian didn’t restrict his hands.

‘Why not?’ Roger asked softly, which made Brian think for a moment. It had been the shock rather than anything else that had make him react like this reacted to Roger suddenly reaching out to touch him. But now that the initial shock was over, it was his mind that told him the exact same thing the shock had done – that, after all those abstinent months in which they didn’t go any further than kissing and cuddling, he was not yet ready to move on to having sex with him all of the sudden. Brian was not ready to see Roger, the person he guided and took care of and looked after all day just for him to get by, as his sexual partner again. However, afraid that this was something he couldn’t tell Roger if he didn’t want him to feel rejected, Brian decided to come up with an excuse.

‘Why not? Because it’s… late, and we have a busy day tomorrow. It’s time to go to sleep,’ Brian blurted out, instantly feeling guilty when he found himself agreeing with Roger’s previous comment that being blind could sometimes be a good thing, as Roger was unable to look at him now that he was starting to blush. But naturally, his eyes weren’t the only source of information that could tell Roger that Brian was making up excuses; believe it or not, but Roger had turned into a very good listener since he was blind – or that was, he could listen very well when what was being said was beneficial to him, like right now.

‘All we have to do is show up at the studio tomorrow, and you just told me we were early today,’ Roger said as he struggled to free his hands from Brian’s careful yet taut grip.

‘Which means that it’s a perfect opportunity to go to sleep early and sleep in tomorrow morning. We’ve had a busy week, you deserve some rest,’ Brian told him as he reached over to tuck Roger in.

‘Don’t I deserve anything else?’ Roger asked with a bit of a chuckle, though Brian could hear the ill-hidden hopefulness in his voice; as usual, Roger wasn’t giving up without a second try. Luckily for Brian though, he easily came up with an equally smooth reply to his boyfriend’s saucy question.

‘Of course, a goodnight kiss,’ Brian answered, leaning over to press a chaste kiss on the lips of Roger, who was pulling off a disappointed pout now that this overly decent peck on the lips was the only thing he received. ‘Sleep tight and sweet dreams, dearest.’

Roger sighed softly and snuggled into his duvets, which momentarily made Brian hope that he was going to give in to the guitarist’s order to go to sleep, but he soon found out that Roger had no such plans yet when he quietly spoke up.

‘Are you not in the mood? Or don’t you want to in general?’ he asked, and Brian could immediately hear the vulnerability in his voice. It was a sentiment he had already feared for; he knew Roger would probably take the rejection pretty personally, so Brian knew he had to choose his reply carefully.

‘I’m… this is just not really the right moment, I think,’ Brian told him softly, after which he wasn’t too sure how to continue. He didn’t think admitting that he didn’t saw Roger as his bedpartner at the moment was a good thing to tell him, so he decided to pick up the excuse he had used just a moment before. ‘We’ve been awfully busy lately, with your school and the studio work and the release of the new album going on…’

‘Which is why some distraction might be good for us,’ Roger tried.

‘I’m sorry, baby, but I don’t think this is the right thing to do now,’ Brian whispered back.

‘Please? We don’t have to go all the way,’ Roger offered.

‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think it would be good for either of us to rush anything,’ Brian said, which he believed was what Roger needed to hear to understand that Brian wasn’t just objecting to getting into anything right there right then, but also to doing this in general, considering the answer Roger gave him after a short silence.

 ‘Brian? Do you… do you still like me?’ Roger asked quietly.

‘What? Of course I still like you! I love you endlessly!’ Brian said, shocked that Roger would ask him that, even though he knew he could have anticipated a reaction like this after having told his fairly insecure boyfriend that he didn’t want to hook up with him.

‘But I mean… do you still like me that way? Like… Do you still think I’m attractive?’ Roger whispered, instantly making Brian feel guilty about having indirectly told him that it wasn’t a good idea to hook up yet now that Roger was starting to question his own appearance and attractiveness.

‘I most certainly do. You’re the prettiest little thing in the world, sweetheart,’ Brian promised, and he sincerely meant it; Roger, with his tousled blond hair and pale blue eyes and cherubic features, all of which added up to his overall angelic appearance, was simply too beautiful for anyone to not find attractive. Brian realised that Roger seemed to be less sure of this, though, when he hid his face behind a tangle of sheets as tears started to fill the corners of those pretty blue eyes. It broke Brian’s heart to see his partner like this; he knew Roger wasn’t tearing up because he wasn’t getting his way or something similar to that, but because he seriously doubted whether Brian still felt the same for him as he had done before the accident now that he had rejected him.

‘Oh darling, don’t you ever doubt my love for you and my attraction to you,’ Brian said, scooping closer to Roger and throwing an arm around whose body, using the other one to ruffle his hair. ‘It’s just that it’s a little sudden and that I didn’t expect you to bring this subject up already, you see?’ Brian asked calmly he repeatedly stroking Roger’s hair, trying his best not to upset his recovering yet still fairly insecure boyfriend even more.

‘It’s been more than six months, Brian,’ Roger reminded him softly.

‘I know. I know it’s been a long time, but I also know there will be a moment when we’ll pick up that part of our relationship again. But I don’t think it’s a good thing to hurry into that at this exact moment, at ten past ten in the evening, whereas we had planned to go to sleep,’ Brian told him, and when Roger didn’t react either positively or negatively, he hoped that this was his way of silently, begrudgingly agreeing that Brian might have been right. ‘And maybe that’s what we should do. Maybe we should sleep on it for a night,’ Brian told him while bringing the duvet closer to Roger’s chin, watching with a satisfied yet sad smile when the drummer snuggled tighter into the bedding that surrounded him as to wordlessly admit what would later turn out to be his temporary defeat.

# # #

When the alarm clock awoke the pair of them the morning after, the situation of the night before still lingered in the back of Brian’s mind. As he was standing in front of the wardrobe to choose his own outfit of the day after just having handed Roger a shirt and a pair of jeans, his thoughts were with what happened last night rather than with determining which trousers would go best with the pink and purple striped shirt he was holding in hands. He was unsure what he had to do with it; should he just forget about it and pretend like nothing had ever happened, like he had done the previous handful of times before when Roger had made similar hints to him? Or would avoiding the topic only make things awkward, and make Roger’s hinting continue? Should he just address last night’s events, propose to talk about it, to tell Roger…

Well, that was the whole point. What should he tell Roger? Should he tell Roger that he didn’t want to hook up? And if he did, what reason should he name? Was it too early for his liking to start having sex again, or did he not want to go there at all anymore now that he viewed Roger more as someone he should take care of instead of his bedpartner? And was any of this even the truth? Did he really not want to be intimate with Roger-

‘Brian? I can’t find my watch.’

Brian awoke from his thoughts and turned away from the wardrobe to let his eyes slip through the room and find the source of the sound. As he looked at his boyfriend, on his knees in front of the nightstand and groping through the contents of its upper drawer, he could not imagine that the specific topic was still on Roger’s mind. He looked so innocent, sitting on the floor dressed in his boxers and an old shirt that had been white a long time ago but - not to even mention the helpless way he took random items out of the drawer, only to discover they weren’t what he was looking for.

Pushing the topic out of his mind, Brian walked over to Roger’s side of the bed, crouched down on the floor next to him, and after having thrown half of the contents of the drawer upside down, he eventually fished the desired braille watch out of it.

‘It fails to surprise me you couldn’t find it - it’s a mess in there,’ Brian chided his partner. Surprisingly, Roger didn’t even protest against this; he simply nodded in agreement. Brian was unsure if it was because Roger was too tired to start a discussion, because he was actually willing to admit that Brian was right for once in his lifetime, or if Roger’s obedience had something to do with the wrist he reached out in Brian’s direction as to wordlessly tell him he had to manoeuvre the tool around his lower arm.

 _Most likely the last option,_ Brian thought to himself while he found himself securing the wristband  around Roger’s right wrist.

‘Come on, it’s time to get dressed and have breakfast. We have to be at the studio at half past eight,’ Brian said. He watched as Roger pulled the glass lid of his watch up and felt at both the index and the tangible dots to check the current time.

‘In that case we’d better hurry up,’ Roger reacted and put this statement into practice by stepping into the pair of jeans Brian had given him earlier, which Brian took as the final piece of evidence that yesterday’s topic was not troubling Roger any longer, and  it was therefore best he’d also let go of it.

# # #

Unfortunately for Brian, it turned out that letting go of Roger’s sexual advances the night before was easier said than done; he could not help wondering how Roger felt about the rejection when he watched him trying not to spill his milk and cereals at the kitchen table during breakfast, kept thinking when and how to address the topic that night while Roger laced up his sneakers in the hallway. And when Roger placed his hand on top of his on the gearstick in the car on their way to the studio, Brian kept glancing at it, as if the hand could wander towards his arm, leg, side, or even further than that at any given moment if he didn’t keep an eye on it. Nothing happened, of course, but still the guitarist remained vigilant, forever afraid Roger would start getting touchy-feely again.

Hand in hand, be it a little uneasily from Brian’s side, the pair of them entered the studio building. In the practice room they were greeted quietly by their bassist as he was playing around on his bass, but his music was soon overpowered by the sound of Freddie’s voice when the frontman came running into them from the mixing panel in the adjacent room.  

‘Darlings, didn’t you manage to read your clock this morning? You’re almost twenty minutes late!’ Freddie told them as he pointed at the clock above the door they had just walked through. Brian didn’t follow the direction of Freddie’s finger - and Roger, for the obvious reasons, didn’t either.

‘Sorry, we had some… things going on,’ Brian mumbled, but it sounded bleak even to his own ears. He was afraid Freddie was never going to accept such a lame and unspecific excuse as a reason for being late, but much to his surprise, he did, probably not wanting to waste any more time.

‘Alright then, you’re here now, let’s keep it at that,’ Freddie said, and Brian sighed in relief; a lecture was just about the last thing he needed right now. ‘We were thinking about working on some of the new songs, see if we can get Roger to play join in on them for the upcoming concert.’

Roger’s excited reaction managed to pull a smile from the otherwise rather absent-minded guitarist; seeing John guiding his boyfriend to his drum kit and placing his drum sticks in his hands, watching Roger feel for the exact location of all components of his drums to make sure he would be able to hit them as accurately as possible before John and he randomly started jamming, made Brian glow with pride. They had come from so far, and even though Roger was of course not yet at the level he had been before, all of them were convinced that with a lot of practice and a well-playing band around him to support him, this would only be a matter of time.

Unfortunately for the drummer, the ‘well-playing’ aspect of the deal was something Brian was unable to give him that morning, something which became clear before they had even played a handful of songs altogether. Even that Roger was sitting numerous feet away from him and him laying his hands on Brian was no longer a threat, Brian was unable to let go of the whole idea of Roger hitting him up again. He wondered how his rejection of Roger’s sexual advantages was making the drummer feel. Of course, Roger had been displeased and had been pouting and complaining like he always did, but had Brian also actually hurt him by telling him he didn’t want to have sex yet? Was Roger seriously questioning whether he still loved him as much as he used to do?

The answer to this question was probably a yes; Roger had literally asked Brian whether he still loved him and if he was still attracted to him. Brian’s rejection of Roger’s advances had probably left an impression on Roger, while hurting him, making him insecure, or making him doubt if his partner still loved him, were the last reactions Brian wanted to elicit in Roger. But Lord, what was Brian to do? He simply could not yet give into Roger’s requests; whenever he looked at him, Brian was reminded of the fragile image Roger had been portraying while stuck in the hospital for endless treatment and operations which all turned out to do nothing for him, the depressing first months they were home, the help he had been needing with picking up his life again. Of course, Roger was in a much better, stronger, and more independent place right now; seeing him behind the drums to play a song with the rest of them was enough to prove how far he had come. But still, even when looking at his boyfriend smiling while hitting the drums in all the right places, Brian could not shake off the feeling that Roger was fragile and needed to be taken care of, and he could not imagine diving into their old sex life right now or anytime soon.

‘Bri, are you playing guitar or harp? You’re hardly touching the strings at all.’

Brian looked away from the boy he had been staring at to instead face Freddie, who was sitting behind the piano and had a bit of a disapproving frown on his forehead. Another time another place, Brian might have joined in on the mildly sarcastic joke. Today however, after already having earned Freddie’s disapproval by having come in rather late, it didn’t seem like a good idea to him to be clever with him.

‘Oh, sorry,’ Brian mumbled, staring down at his own feet.

Freddie removed his fingers from the piano tiles to cross his hands over his chest. ‘Which song are we playing?’ he asked with a hint of a smirk at the corners of his lips, probably realising he was embarrassing Brian by asking him a question to test the mental presence the guitarist was simply not having that morning.

_Oh, help. Well, there was a piano, so it couldn’t be that awful I’m In Love With My Car-song that no one had been wanting to do, but for which also no one had the heart to turn down when their drummer finally returned to the studio after months of recovery. In any case, something with a piano… There was a piano on Love of my Life, but it hadn’t been sounding like Freddie’s latest ballad…_

_…They were practicing one of their new songs, right? Or had they been practicing songs from the previous albums to prepare for the upcoming concert? Lord, what had they been playing before this?_

_Flick of the Wrist?_

_Lord, from what album even **was** that song? The last album or the upcoming album?_

‘Well?’ Freddie asked, and it sounded like he would like to receive an answer to his question between now and five seconds.

‘Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon…?’ Brian tried to sound as confident as possible, but he knew that his hesitancy was betraying him - and if it had not been his hesitancy, then it would have been the plain fact that the answer was wrong, as could have been expected.

‘Nice try, dear. It was Seaside Rendezvous. That does explain why you were doing God-knows-what during my piano work,’ Freddie commented, and Brian felt his cheeks turning crimson red by now.

‘What’s going on with you today?’ Freddie asked him in all seriousness, but Brian could swear he was detecting something of a mocking sound to the lead singer’s voice, which made him press his lips together and not say a word to their frontman. There was no way he was going to share his thoughts with Freddie anyway, and most of all not in the current setting, with John tuning his bass in an attempt to keep himself outside the argument that was going on right in front of him, and Roger sitting behind the drums staring in their direction without probably even being aware of it.

Freddie, on the other hand, did not seem to accept this silent treatment from Brian. ‘Darlings, why don’t you go to the kitchen and grab the four of us some tea? Brian and me are going out for a cigarette,’ Freddie announced as he got up from the piano and walked right over to Brian in a fast pace, as if he was in a hurry to get some privacy between the two of them.

‘But I don’t even smoke-’ Brian protested, but there was no use; Freddie was already tugging him along with him by the sleeve of his shirt, hardly allowing Brian to carefully put down his guitar and instead forcing him to drop it on a tip-up chair they passed on their way outside.

‘Neither do I, but moments like these sometimes make me want to,’ was Freddie’s reply, instead of explaining to Brian what he was doing. Then again, Brian also didn’t ask what was going on either; he was too busy focussing on trying not to trip over his own feet as Freddie relentlessly dragged him out of the building to use his energy for questions. Only when they were both standing outside, a handful of metres away from the main entrance of the building, Brian was given a chance to catch his breath and afterwards scold at Freddie for his seemingly random actions.

‘What was that good for? You just could have asked me to come with you! I could have dropped my guitar!’ Brian snarled, but Freddie did not seem to care about his friend’s indignation. Instead, he sarcastically raised one eyebrow to express his well-acted surprise. Really, if they wouldn’t have been in music, Brian was sure their frontman could have pursued a career in theatre instead.

‘It surprises me that you even _noticed_.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Brian snapped back, even though Freddie did not leave much room for his indignance to be displayed.

‘Darling, you’ve been somewhere else with your mind for as long as we have been practicing, and I’d like to know what you’re thinking about,’ Freddie announced, making Brian sigh. He had known all along that this was the reason Freddie was dragging him out of the room to be able to talk between the two of them, but he was not in the mood to express any of his concerns with him.

‘Nothing. I’m just tired,’ Brian said, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand as to give his statement more credibility. Freddie did not seem to buy his act, unfortunately; he sat down on the pavement and looked up at Brian, which the guitarist had grown to understand was a usually a sign that he was ready to cut the bullshit and get to the core of the business.

‘It’s something with Roger, right?’ Freddie said.

‘What makes you think so?’ Brian asked, not denying that Freddie was right.

‘Because he’s all that’s _ever_ on your mind, especially since he’s gone blind. And I don’t blame you - I would have done the same if he were my partner,’ Freddie added when he noticed how Brian’s cheeks were starting to glow once again. ‘There’s no shame in worrying and thinking about him a lot, Brian. But I’m starting to get the idea that here’s something going on between the two of you at the moment.’

He nearly would have agreed, but the last sentence Freddie spoke made Brian fall back in his defence mode. ‘There’s nothing going on between us, why would you thin-’

‘Because you’re acting all awkward around him,’ Freddie interrupted him, tapping on the stone pavement surface next to him. ‘Come on, sit down next to me and tell me what’s on your mind.’

‘I should go inside again, if Roger is making tea unsupervised…’ he said in an attempt to free himself from the situation, but he knew he was talking nonsense and so did Freddie.

‘You know Deaky is with him, dear,’ Freddie reminded him. ‘No more excuses now. Sit down and talk to me,’ he said a bit more insistently, and Brian begrudgingly agreed, not finding the power within himself to object and protest Freddie’s authority any longer. He sat down on the pavement next to Freddie and fiddled around for a moment to find both a comfortable position on the cold, stony surface beneath him, and a decent way to maybe start this conversation off with. Finding position was easy, but finding a sentence or even a _word_ to start off this conversation he was not at all so. He knew that if there was anyone in the world he could talk to about sexual issues, it had to be the man he was sitting to right now, and yet he found himself holding back - something Freddie noticed, too.

‘Throw it all out, Brian. Whatever it is that’s bothering you, you’ll feel better if you share it with someone. That someone being me,’ Freddie clarified for the record, and Brian, simply hoping Freddie was right, decided to roll with it.

‘Alright then,’ Brian started after a bit of a silence. ‘There’s this… something I’ve been coming across lately, but it’s kind of… weird to discuss with anyone, even with Roger himself.’

‘You know you can tell me anything, dear. Go ahead,’ Freddie said. He did not seem to be distraught by the fact that the subject on Brian’s mind was something he wasn’t even comfortable talking with his own partner about. Then again, the frontman had probably heard (and participated in) more wild stories over the course of a year than Brian was sure he was ever going to hear in his lifetime, so he decided to simply go for it and hope for the best.

‘Okay. Well, there’s this… situation between Rog and me lately, and I don’t know what to do with it,’ he started off as generally as possible, to give himself some more time to come up with the phrasing of the actual event.

‘And that situation is?’ Freddie asked without skipping a beat.

‘Roger is… Well, you see, Roger has been hinting to me lately that he wants to… have sex,’ Brian managed more than just a little awkwardly, toying around with the hem of his shirt.

‘Aha,’ Freddie said, encouraging Brian to move on with his story, not aware that what Brian had just told him was, in fact, the core of the story.

‘Well, that’s it, pretty much,’ Brian clarified. ‘Roger wants to have sex, and I don’t really know what to do with it.’

‘Wait, hold on,’ Freddie said, looking at Brian in a state of confusion. ‘Why is that such a big deal? How long has it been since you’ve last had sex?’

Brian frowned lightly while he thought about this question for a moment. ‘I think the day before the accident, or maybe the day before that at the most,’ he said.

‘You mean… _The_ accident, back last year?’ Freddie asked, the confusion by now having traded places with an emotion that was closer to complete disbelief.

‘Yeah, that one,’ Brian said, then thought for a second. ‘But you’re right, by saying ‘the accident’ I also could have been talking about the time Roger fell down the stairs, or that time we had to go to the first aid because he burned his hand on the flatiron so badly that we had to-’ he pondered out loud, but halfway through his monologue he was cut off by his interlocutor.

‘You two haven’t had sex since last November?!’ Freddie asked in disbelief.

‘Exactly,’ Brian replied, looking at Freddie to find whose expression containing more than just the hint of disbelief and misunderstanding. ‘You seem to be shocked,’ he declared, but even this word seemed to be an understatement for describing the look on Freddie’s face right now.

‘I am! I thought you two had been having sex again for ages!’ Freddie cried out. Another time another place, Brian would have worried about anyone hearing Freddie practically _screaming_ the phrase ‘having sex for ages’ out loud, but all he could focus on right now was talking the ideas Freddie apparently had about Roger and him right out of his head.

‘Why would you think- No!’ Brian said, by now just as shocked as Freddie had been - and still was, by the looks of his face and the sound of his more than a little indignant voice.

‘Because you two are partners! You’re living with each other in the same house, are together day and night, you sleep in the same bed…’ Freddie reasoned, but Brian just stared blankly at him, as if he could not believe Freddie had added all these facts up and had determined that Roger and he therefore must have been having sex again, and Freddie sighed audibly. ‘My Lord, Brian! Why not?’

‘What do you think? Because Roger is blind!’ Brian told him as to defend his actions - or lack of actions, that was, if one wanted to be precise.

‘That doesn’t mean you can’t have sex! _Anyone_ who’s tried blindfolding is supposed to know that,’ Freddie chided him, which at last made Brian drop his loud voice and simply stare at him as if he could not believe Freddie had just made that suggestion.

‘What… makes you think we tried blindfolding?’ Brian asked, but the blush creeping up his cheeks betrayed him.

‘Because I’ve known Roger and you for a little while, dear,’ Freddie said with a fair of satisfaction, which caused Brian to blush an even deeper colour of red. ‘But let me get this straight. You two haven’t had sex in like… half a year. How do you cope? Do you jack off on an hourly base?’

‘What? No!’ Brian said, wondering how on _earth_ Freddie had dragged him into a conversation like this. Even though he had established long ago that getting people to talk about topics they were uncomfortable with was a talent of the frontman, it continued to surprise Brian how exactly he managed to trap people into vulgar conversations time after time. ‘I just got used to it. It’s not _that_ hard not to have sex once you get used to it, believe me or not.’

Freddie decided not to go into the mildly teasing comment at the end of Brian’s sentence, and instead went straight for the core business. ‘But you would like to have sex again, wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, I…’ Brian stammered somewhat awkwardly - not only because he was a bit too prude to discuss the current topic as openly as Freddie, but also because he had not expected Freddie to ask him this question this straightforwardly. ‘I would think…’

‘Yes, you would like it,’ Freddie answered on behalf of Brian, and the guitarist nodded discreetly, not fully willing to admit these desires out loud yet.

‘Then what’s holding you back?’ Freddie asked, and Brian, whose fingers had found their way back to the hem of his shirt again to have something to fidget with.

‘Just… It doesn’t exactly seem right to me,’ he said.

‘Why not? If the both of you want to and you both agree to it, then what’s wrong about it?’

‘I’m just… I’m just not sure if I still see him that way,’ Brian admitted after a moment of pausing. ‘I mean, Roger’s my boyfriend and I love him to pieces, and I could kiss and cuddle with him until the end of times. But I’m so used to seeing him as someone who I must take care of, which makes me think it would be wrong to use him for sex.’

‘You’re not _using_ him for sex, Brian. He’s your partner, after all. John is my boyfriend, am I using him when I have sex with him?’ Freddie asked.

‘I suppose not,’ Brian mumbled, starting to see that his way of reasoning was illogical but not wanting to admit so out loud.

‘Exactly. You’re together because you love each other, so if you both want to hook up again, you should do so,’ Freddie said.

‘I know,’ Brian sighed. ‘I know, and I think I do want to have sex again, but I’m just constantly reminded of how vulnerable Roger is without eyesight. I don’t want to… hurt him, if you know what I mean,’ he said somewhat awkwardly.

‘Brian, I haven’t met _anyone_ who treats his partner as considerately and delicately as you do. I’m sure you couldn’t even hurt him if you _tried_ to,’ Freddie said. Though Brian was glad to hear that it was showing that he was doing all he could to handle Roger with care, he feared that Freddie was not getting the message he was trying to convey.

‘But still, he can’t see a thing, and I don’t want to scare him. He… easily gets startled by unexpected movements,’ Brian tried to further explain.

‘Which means that you might need to tell him what you’re going to do. You always have to tell him what you’re going to do before you approach him, right?’ Freddie proposed, showing Brian that he could not see the practical implications of this unwritten rule between Roger and Brian. Brian could hardly blame the lead singer; he did not live together with a blind partner day and night, and therefore had never gotten into the mindset that Brian was finding himself in these days. Therefore, he decided that he might show him what ‘telling-before-touching’ would look like in the bedroom, to make sure Freddie knew why this was not a desirable solution for the problem.

‘Yeah, but that’s when you’re going to button up his shirt, or when you’re going to brush a strand of hair out of his face. What am I supposed to say in the bedroom? ‘Babe, stay still for a moment, I’m going to stick my cock up your ass?’’

‘Goodness, Brian, that I would ever hear someone as prude as you say that out loud!’ Freddie laughed, whereas Brian started blushing straight away when he realised what he had just said; he hadn’t meant to use _that_ kind of language to bring his message across. ‘You have to be more subtle.’

‘I don’t think reciting Victorian era metaphors for having sex will be well received by him either.’

‘You sure are being clever with me today,’ Freddie rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, Roger’s been hinting that he wants to get more intimate, but that doesn’t mean he wants to go straight at it the first time.’

‘Well, knowing him…’ Brian mumbled.

‘Okay, maybe he does,’ Freddie corrected himself with a chuckle. ‘But let’s be honest here, so do you - be it more gradually,’ he added when Brian looked like he wanted to protest. ‘So if he wants to get right at it and you want to build it up slowly, maybe you can meet in the middle. Just start with something small; just kissing, touching, and fondling for a bit. Then the time after that you can take it further; maybe you can blow him or he can blow you. I’m pretty sure he’s willing to do that without any complaints after so many abstinent months,’ Freddie winked, whereas Brian was more focussed on the previous sentence he had spoken; the mention of the possibility of blowing each other had seemed alluring enough to make his cock stir slightly. Brian felt his cheeks turning red and he quickly rested his hands on his lap in the hope that Freddie wouldn’t notice.

But even though he tried to push these thoughts away, Brian wasn’t able to let go of them, especially not when his mind wandered back to that one specific time months ago when Roger went down on him one night from out of nowhere. It had been an isolated event, but the memory of it had been following Brian ever since, and it had popped up during those spare but always returning moments in which he felt his sexual frustration building up just by the sight of Roger wearing (next to) nothing in the bathroom, or when he felt Roger’s body against his when they snuggled together in bed. He had always felt like it was wrong to have such thoughts about his disabled boyfriend, but maybe it was only natural to think about him like this. Roger was, after all, his partner, the love of his life, and he wanted nothing more than to be as close as possible to him on every area.

The fact that Freddie was noticing the physical effects of Brian’s desires too, was something Brian was _not_ particularly excited about, though. ‘Maybe you might want to skip the touchy-feely-part and immediately move on to Roger going down on you,’ Freddie said with a nod towards the body part the guitarist was desperately trying to hide, making Brian blush even heavier.

‘I’m sorry,’ Brian mumbled, awkwardly readjusting his position again. ‘It’s just… You’re making me realise that I do want to have that part of our relationship back. I’ve probably wanted that for quite a while, but I just never allowed myself to think about something selfish like that.’

‘You’re not being selfish, Brian, believe me. It’s probably a healthy thing for you to still feel that way about Roger, right? You two are young and in love, there’s no reason to behave like an old married couple who’ve silently agreed on abstinence somewhere along the road fifteen years ago,’ Freddie reminded him, and Brian couldn’t help smiling.

‘You’re right, I think. Maybe I should at least bring up the topic tonight and talk about it with Roger.’

‘Speaking of the devil…’ Freddie said and Brian turned to look in the direction of the studio, seeing Roger carefully stepping outside the hallway of the studio but never leaving his grip onto the door.

‘Are you two almost done smoking your imaginary cigarettes?’ Roger shouted to the direction right in front of him, of course not being able to determine the location of his partner and their mutual friend before they gave him an indication by replying to their blind drummer.

‘What do _you_ know about it? We might be smoking cannabis right here under your nose!’ Freddie said with a playful wink to Brian.

‘I might be blind, but my nose is still working. And I don’t smell tobacco. I smell tea that will be getting cold if you two don’t get inside to drink it within now and a few minutes,’ Roger said.

‘We’ll be right back with you. In the meantime you might enjoy yourself by sorting the tea bags in the kitchen based on colour,’ Freddie proposed with a grin, and Roger rolled his eyes dramatically.

‘I’m sure I’d manage to do that sooner than you two can get back inside!’ Roger teased as he disappeared around the door again, and Brian and Freddie shared a chuckle between them.

‘He’s made such progress,’ Freddie said, and Brian agreed with a sigh. To remember that Roger had gone from heavily depressed and not wanting to leave the bed for days after the diagnosis had been drawn, to this point where he could easily join in on jokes about his condition, was almost too good to be true. He was much more the person he once used to be now that he had managed to pick up as much of his old life as possible; his music, his hobbies, his friendships, his relationship…

… and picking up the last mentioned component of his life, his relationship with Brian, had come to the point where having sex was not only desirable but also inevitable, and even more than that. It was about more than just craving and satisfaction; it was about trust, love, security, and confirmed that they had recovered perfectly from the darkness they had found themselves in a while ago. Brian realised that both Freddie and Roger were right after all. It _was_ time to engage in that specific part of their relationship again; perhaps not by getting right at it like Roger seemed to want it, but more gradually, just like recovery and positivity had gradually come to them over the past few months.

It was as if Freddie could read Brian’s thoughts; but, as usual, Freddie always had to push his luck and try to push Brian out of his comfort zone by proposing inappropriate ideas that made Brian want to change all his newly acquired ideas right back to what they used to be before this conversation. ‘Come on, Brian, time to make a decision and go back inside. Either go take a wank in the bathroom or let Roger help you out – preferably the last option.’

‘The bath- we’re at work!’ Brian hissed as if he could not believe Freddie had just proposed that option; Freddie, on the other hand, was only encouraged by Brian’s prudence to push it even further.

‘That never used to stop the two of you from getting at it before the accident, if I remember correctly,’ Freddie said as he scrambled off the pavement and flashed Brian a sneaky glance, as if to tell him that there was _nothing_ concerning Brian and his partner and that was unbeknown to him.

‘Oh, shut up,’ Brian rolled his eyes, but there was nothing he could do to stop the blush spreading across his face. To stop Freddie from making a comment about this, he stood up to face Freddie at eye level and took the lead of the conversation by saying: ‘A filthy bathroom in the studio is _not_ fitting for a special moment like this. If anything, it’s gonna be in our bedroom, with proper sheets and pillows and everything we need right at hand,’ Brian said, without specifying what exactly he meant with ‘everything we need’. He realised that he was allowing Freddie’s imagination to run all over the place by giving him a hint like this, but he decided that it was about time he’d tease the frontman instead of the other way around for a change.

‘Oh, _that’s_ the spirit,’ Freddie cooed and grabbed Brian’s lower arm between his fingers. ‘Now, back inside and finish practicing so that you can go home and go about your business as soon as possible. And I expect some wild stories tomorrow morning!’

‘You know I’m never going to let that happen over the course of just one night,’ Brian reminded Freddie as he wiped the sand off his jeans.

‘We’ll see about that, dear,’ Freddie grinned meaningfully. ‘Now, back inside, let’s see if our little troublemaker has managed to sort out the tea bags already,’ he said and tugged Brian along with him, back into the studio for a hopefully more successful session of music practice.

# # #

Freddie turned out to be right about telling what was on his mind being good for Brian. Once they got back inside the studio, drank the cups of tea of which they refused to admit that they indeed had gotten cold while they had been outside, and eventually returned to their instruments, Brian was much better able to focus on the music instead of on what to do with Roger. He actually managed to concentrate right now, and whenever they had to draw their practicing to a halt, it was no longer because of him but either because someone wanted to make a suggestion for an alternative tune or key, or because Roger lost track of what to do or where to hit the drums - something no one could blame the blind drummer for. Even though what exactly to say or do once they got home was still on Brian’s mind, Freddie seemed rather satisfied about Brian’s renewed mental presence, and showed this by either winking at him, giving meaningful glances towards Roger (followed by nodding towards the hallway, which Brian guessed was supposed to point towards the bathroom and the activities Freddie had proposed they could engage in in there), and eventually some gestures that even got John to raise an eyebrow at the pair of them. Brian blushed and glanced into Roger’s direction as to see if the drummer didn’t notice, even though he knew well enough that Roger would never be able to see any of the inappropriate looks and gestures Freddie was directing at him. Sometimes Roger’s condition could really be a blessing, Brian found himself thinking a little guiltily.

The day at the studio finally drew to an end when Freddie decided to call it a night, probably because he noticed Roger was starting to perform less well than he had been - a common result of him getting tired after hours of practice - and because Brian seemed to be getting impatient. That this was due to the fact that Brian was getting frustrated by Freddie continuing to make silent suggestions and gestures rather than by the sexual frustration Freddie was probably hoping for, was something the frontman seemed (or chose) to overlook when he send the pair of them home.

‘I think it’s been long enough for today, dears,’ Freddie announced after they had practiced Love of my Life a handful of times. ‘Bri, Roger, you’re excused for today,’ he said with a meaningful smirk.

‘Shouldn’t we clean up the studio?’ Roger asked, not being able to see but remembering by experience the sheets of paper, forgotten cups of lukewarm tea, bass guitars, tangles of cables and wires, and other studio work requirements that were usually scattered around after a day of work.

‘Deaky and me will take care of that,’ Freddie told him. ‘I believe Brian and you have more important businesses to attend to,’ he said with a wink to Brian, and Brian was positive that if Roger would not only have been blind but also deaf, he would have given Freddie a smack in the faced by now for openly making suggestions in Roger’s presence.

Roger raised an eyebrow. ‘What do we have to-’

‘Nothing, dear. It’s just that it’s already been half past five, we still have to buy groceries, go home, cook and all… So it’s about time we go now,’ Brian made up as a pretty lame excuse that Roger luckily did seem to believe, because he did not protest or ask anything more when Brian handed him his coat, made him say goodbye to the rest of the band, and walked him over to their car in a faster pace than usual. Sure, he was ready to take his relationship with Roger to the next level, but preferably without Freddie’s inappropriate interference.

‘You sure are in a hurry,’ was the only thing he said about their sudden departure when Brian started the engine of the car, and Brian coughed uncomfortably while adjusting the rear view mirror.

‘The, eh, grocery store will close at six, so we shouldn’t arrive too late if we still want to have dinner tonight,’ Brian made up.

‘What do we need to buy?’ Roger asked as he struggled to secure the buckle of the seatbelt.

 _Well, that was a pretty good question_ , Brian thought to himself. He had quickly came up with the excuse of needing to go to the grocery store, but he had already planned out their dinner for tonight. But, to remain his credibility, he decided to safe today’s planned dinner of potatoes, carrots, and whatever kind of meat was left in the refrigerator for tomorrow, and roll with spaghetti and meatballs for today. Roger seemed enthusiastic when he proposed this plan, so Brian drove them over to the supermarket close to their house, and the pair of them rushed through the store - as far as ‘rushing’ was possible while looking for instant bolognese sauce and trying to keep track on your blind partner while his attempts to help you find your  groceries mainly resulted in you attempting to prevent half of the products to fall out of their shelves.

They checked out at the cash register at 17:58 precisely, and by the time Brian parked the car at the side of the road across their house, he looked at his watch to find that it was already fifteen past six. Once inside, he installed Roger in front of the TV to listen to what remained of the six o’clock news, and the guitarist himself disappeared into the kitchen to start cooking. Sometimes he would let Roger help him stirring the food, peeling potatoes, cutting vegetables, or the like, but they were already running late today, so it seemed like a better idea to Brian to do the work on his own if he wanted to have supper before midnight.

On top of that, he needed time on his own to think about how exactly to go about the situation with Roger and him. Freddie had made him realise during their conversation - and unfortunately also in the studio hours long after that - that it was about time he gave in to Roger’s requests, but he was not sure how or where to start. It seemed best to him to talk it over and establish some boundaries before starting the actual actions, but what exactly where his boundaries? How far was he willing to go for a first time since half a year, and when should he talk to Roger about the plans? Should he tell Roger to come over right now, address it during dinner time, somewhere in the rest of the evening, during their daily evening walk with Sandy, or when they were lying in bed together?

Brian put the spoon into the pan of bolognese sauce and tiptoed over to the door and opened it carefully, to see what Roger was up to and if he was available to talk to. However, as soon as he saw Roger lying on his belly on the floor and petting the head of his guide dog that was lying next to him, Brian’s heart melt, and he could not pull himself together to sit Roger down and talk about their sex life while just having seen him lying on the floor play with their Labrador. He silently made his way back to the pan of sauce that he was afraid had begun to overboil while he had been watching his partner and whose guide dog, and told himself that during dinner another opportunity might come up for him to bring up his plans while he nearly violently tried to stir the red substance into submissiveness again.

Dinner, however, also did not turn out to be the right moment - not when Roger, sitting cross-legged on his chair and trying to attach the meatballs from his spaghetti to his fork with the use of his hand, only to have half of them falling back into his board, on the placemat, or in the worst case, in his lap. After just having witnessed his clumsiness during supper, it did not seem like a good idea to Brian distract Roger with any kind of conversation while the drummer was wiping clean some delicate old tea glasses as they were washing up. He felt uncomfortable speaking of sex when they were outside with Sandy; there was no one to be seen on the suburban street they lived on, but still he felt as if either neighbours or national security units could be eavesdropping on everything they said. Besides, Brian knew he was the last thing Roger had on his mind whenever they went out with Sandy, as Roger only had eye for their dog during those moments.

Once they got back inside again, Roger  went upstairs right away and disappeared into the shower before Brian could even sit him down to talk. Brian could hardly oppress a sigh of frustration; he was positive Roger had no idea that he had something to say, let alone what this would be, but if he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn Roger was trying to avoid him. However, deciding that there was not too much he could do about it, Brian simply went into their bedroom with an old music magazine and waited for Roger to turn up. He let Roger know he was in their bedroom before he settled down on their sloppily made bed to catch up on Fleetwood Mac’s newest vocalists and guitarist (something that was already old news by now, but then again, this was an outdated magazine) while he waited for Roger to come join him.

Brian skipped over the lines of the text in front of him, dimply thought about how to start the conversation, and listened to keep track on when Roger shut off the water, when he stepped out of the shower, and eventually opened the door of the bathroom and walked towards their bedroom. Brian instantly put his magazine aside the moment Roger stumbled into their room and climbed onto their bed, where he eventually sighed deeply as he let his body fall down on his side of the mattress.

‘Are you tired, love?’ Brian whispered after a few seconds of silence, and Roger nodded as he buried his face in the pillow beneath him. ‘It’s been a long day after all,’ Brian said as lifted up his duvets, the sound of which was enough for Roger to know that he was invited to lie down closely to his boyfriend and share some hugs and kisses between the two of them - and some more than that, it would soon turn out.

Roger moved over and let Brian pull the blankets around him, after which Brian enveloped his torso with his slender arms. Roger, in his turn, nestled himself closely against Brian’s chest, rested his cheek against his boyfriend’s shoulder, and put his hand on his boyfriend’s upper arm to complete their favourite sleeping position.

‘Your hair smells nice,’ Brian whispered while he nuzzled at his partner’s damp tresses, and when he felt Roger smiling against his shoulder, he already knew he was going to be getting a reply that was going to be sarcastic to a yet-to-be-determined degree.

‘It’s called shampoo. You should try it sometimes,’ Roger confirmed his suspicions, a more than somewhat cheeky smile forming at the corners of his lips. Brian glanced down too look at him, and he found himself drowning in Roger’s dysfunctional but somehow still lively eyes. Roger’s eyes were something he could look at forever, but sometimes they captured him just a little more than other days. Those eyes, which once had been a shade of blue but which after the accident had turned into a greyish mass, like an overcast sky on an autumn afternoon, were the prettiest Brian had ever seen, and seeing that sparkle of naughtiness lighting them up at the moment made them even more beautiful than they already were. They now did not hold that emptiness Brian so often got to see; he saw a hint of excitement, courage, love, liveliness, all of which reminded him of how Roger was still the playful, exciting boy he had fallen in love with years ago.

Now that he gave himself a few seconds to lock his eyes with Roger’s bright and playful ones, the more Brian realised that it was time. It was time to move on, he was ready for it, and more importantly than that, Roger was ready for it. He had no intentions to rush headlong into this the way he was sure Roger would prefer, but he knew the both of them were ready to step up their game, and that today was going to be the start of picking up what once had been.

‘You don’t know _half_ what you’re doing to me when you look at me like that,’ Brian whispered while he brought his face closer to Roger’s, and the moment the final words of the sentence left his lips, he pressed them against Roger’s unexpecting ones, closing the space between them both by pulling Roger’s torso closer towards his own body and by pressing their lips together. He had expected Roger to react hesitantly at first, given that he had not seen the kiss coming, but it was as if Roger’s sixth sense had informed him well on time what was about to happen. Before Brian even got the opportunity to properly press his lips against Roger’s, his partner was already leaning towards him to bring their lips together. After that, it only seemed to take half a second for Roger to throw both arms around the back of Brian’s neck and completely capture Brian’s lips with his own.

It was as if the feeling of Roger’s warm lips against his mouth, his chest pressed against his own, and his still slightly clammy arms around him, was exactly what Brian had been needing all along. Of course, hugs and goodnight kisses were daily routines, pecking each other on the lips or cuddling in bed when they could afford spending their morning in bed together on the weekends were things that happened regularly, but the passion and intensity of this current kiss and embrace was something that hadn’t happened in a while. Brian knew there was no one to blame but himself for that; Roger had hinted and made several attempts to achieve this level of closeness to each other again, but he had always been the one him off.

Looking back at it now, Brian saw how stupid it was of himself not to allow Roger to hold and kiss him this way; he had always told himself that that stage of display of affection was over, that Roger was too vulnerable and too helpless to engage in such actions now that he was blind, and that it was morally reprehensible to try to push him into going physical with him again. Only now, since his conversation with Freddie and mainly at this exact moment with their lips and bodies pressed close to each other, Brian realised that those thoughts had been stupid all along. Roger’s condition might influence their daily life to a great extent, but it was wrong to conclude - even _disrespectful_ towards his lover who was trying all he could to learn and live with it - that he was helpless, vulnerable, and uncappable of receiving love and affection any longer. It was quite the opposite; it seemed like Roger needed to feel and experience Brian’s attraction to him now more than he had ever done before, and frankly, Brian felt the same about getting to see Roger’s dedication to him again.

Lips were moving against each other, fingers moving across skin in seemingly random patterns, but Brian was eventually the first one to decide to break up the random movements of his fingers on Roger’s back and move it forwards. He slid his hands to the hem of Roger’s shirt, below it, grabbing the fabric from the inside and dragging it up his back as much as he could now they were lying down on their side and clinging their arms around each other. Brian knew he wasn’t going to manage to toss Roger’s shirt aside, but before he could even think about these implications, Roger already seemed to understand his not so subtle hints.

Still, while Roger instantly understood what Brian’s hands were doing on the inside of his shirt, but he did not react the way Brian had been expecting. Instead of immediately helping him out and working the shirt over his head himself, Roger pulled off a confused expression and placed his fingers on Brian’s through the fabric of his shirt to stop them from further crawling upwards.

‘Brian? What are you…’ Roger asked, but he was distracted by the feeling of Brian’s hands on his bare skin to finish his sentence.

‘Are you okay with this? If not, tell me,’ Brian whispered, holding his fingers still until further notice but hoping that he would soon be given permission to carry on again.

‘I’m okay with it. Very much so,’ Roger snickered, much to Brian’s satisfaction. ‘But why are you suddenly… you know, doing this?’

 _Oh Lord, there we go,_ Brian thought dimly to himself while he cleared his throat. ‘Well, you see, I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday for a bit, and I think you might be right,’ Brian said as vaguely as possible as if to give himself some more time to come up with a decent description of the reason why he suddenly agreed that it was time to start acting like partners again instead of caretaker and caregiver, preferably without having to include his rather shameless conversation with Freddie that morning.

‘Right about what?’ Roger asked, a touch of hope audible in his voice, and Brian felt glad that he was finally not going to have to disappoint him this evening.

‘That it’s been six months since we’ve done anything, and that that’s too long for two lovers. Right?’ Brian asked, needing recognition for this statement even though he already knew Roger agreed with him. When Roger indeed nodded his head vehemently, Brian hesitantly continued, cautious not to get Roger too excited too soon. ‘So if you’d be willing to… you know, try some things out again…’

Brian looked down at Roger’s face to see how he reacted to this proposal. At first, there wasn’t much to see; the sparkle of excitement Brian had been detecting just a moment earlier seemed to have disappeared, and Roger now just looked at him somewhat blankly. Brian waited for a second, to see if there were any changes in his partner’s facial expression, such as that well-known twinkle of excitement or a naughty smile playing around his lips.

It turned out, however, that Brian was looking for signs in the wrong place. While he had been focussed on Roger’s blank face all the while, he had missed that Roger’s hands had wandered off to the elastic waistband of his boxers in the meantime, not to even mention that by the time Brian finally noticed this, Roger had already wrung his hand below it and almost managed to move his fingers past Brian’s pubic hair and down the place Roger probably hoped ending up at that night.

‘Wait!’ Brian said as he followed Roger’s earlier example of placing his hand over Roger’s to prevent him from moving further. ‘Hold on. I’m not saying we’re immediately going to jump into this. We’re just going to take it slow, and see where we’ll end up. Agreed?’

Silence for a second, silence in which Brian could see the want on Roger’s face, the _need_ in his eyes, before his boyfriend grasped the offer with both hands.

‘Agreed. As long as you’ll just kiss me now,’ Roger whispered huskily, and Brian could do nothing else than obey; he pressed his lips against Roger’s soft but eager ones and allowed the drummer to kiss him to the extent where it was not so much ‘kissing’ anymore, but rather ‘devouring’; it was hungry, it was needy, with teeth snapping against each other and tongues soon joining in to complete the hot mess that was exactly what the both of them seemed to be needing. Until that moment, no  nakedness had been involved in their actions, but that was about to change - not to say that this change was already happening. While their tongues were fighting over control, Brian placed his fingers on the hem of Roger’s shirt again and picked it up where he had left it. He somewhat impatiently dragged the fabric up, past Roger’s stomach, waist, and chest, where he eventually failed to drag it up any higher when their entangled arms got in the way. Luckily, a tug at the fabric was all Roger needed to understand that he had to get rid of the piece of clothing, so the drummer shortly broke away from him to get the job done. Brian nearly groaned at the loss of touch of Roger’s hands on his body, their mouths pressed together, tongues against each other, but fortunately Roger was quick to remove his shirt and even quicker to resume their business. A little overwhelmed but mainly satisfied with Roger’s eagerness, Brian followed his example of almost attacking Roger in his quest to get their chests, hands, mouths, and souls to melt together again - a process that contained, as it had done before, the snapping of teeth, the pulling at limbs, and the scratching of nails on skin, all in order to be as close together as they could be.

Somewhere in between all of this chaos, Roger managed to capture Brian’s lower lip between his teeth, chewing and sucking on it instantly. The sensation of the sensitive skin of his lip between Roger’s sharp teeth shocked Brian a little at first, but at the same time, he found himself rather enjoying this renewed treatment between the two of them. Surely, there was nothing wrong with butterfly kisses and pecks on the cheeks, but after all this time, Brian felt like it was really about fucking _time_ they kissed each other roughly and ripped off the remaining pieces of clothing.

Luckily for Brian, it seemed that his boyfriend thought similarly about the situation. While Brian tightened his grip around Roger’s already naked torso, Roger seemed to let go of the small of Brian’s back and hooked his fingers around the hem of his shirt, impatiently starting to tug at them as to hint that he had to get it off. Brian’s lips curled up in a bit of a smile as much as the grip Roger’s teeth had around them would allow him to, while he carefully removed one of his arms from Roger’s waist to help his partner and throw the shirt over his head, discarding it somewhere to the corner of the room without looking where the piece of fabric landed. He had more important things on his mind at the moment than making sure his shirt wouldn’t end up crumpled, of course; such as his boyfriend, who had let go of his bottom lip and instead was kissing, biting, and sucking the skin of his jawline. Brian threw his head back in the pillows beneath him as to expose as much of his skin to Roger. He couldn’t oppress the desire to give Roger the space he needed to kiss and nibble and bite at his skin as much as he liked, even though his mind kept telling Brian to stay vigilant and watch Roger’s every move so he could cut it off if his partner got too enthusiastic and tried to elevate this kissing session to the next level.

However, the more he felt Roger’s tongue and lips and teeth working on his jawline and slowly moving down his neck, the stronger Brian felt his own enthusiasm about Roger’s actions growing. He told himself that it was okay, that he was allowed to feel enthusiasm about the two of them becoming physically close again; just as long as they kept it at kissing and feeling and did not move much further than that stage for tonight…

… but then there was a hand reaching towards his underwear, and before Brian knew it, his own fingers were at a quest for the remaining piece of Roger’s clothing also. Brian wasn’t sure if it should surprise him that Roger was the first to get a hold on his underwear before he had managed to catch Roger’s; maybe it was due to the fact that Roger had learned how to search for things with his hands instead of with his eyes, or maybe it was just because Roger seemed to be most desperate to get Brian out of his clothes. Either way, Roger had gotten ahead of him, and before Brian had even hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of his boyfriend’s underwear, Roger was already dragging his boxers down in just a few short but effective tugs that tore the garment down Brian’s hips and halfway down his upper legs, to the point where the guitarist decided he might as well remove them altogether. After this, he firmly placed his fingers on Roger’s waistband and worked the boxers down Roger’s hips, legs, and knees in just one pull as a revenge for Roger having done practically the same for him.

Or well, revenge… It seemed like Roger was all too happy with the knowledge that all their clothes had been removed by now. Brian felt him smile against his jawline while he kissed and sucked on the skin and slowly moved lower. Before, his lips had kissed, sucked, and bitten Brian’s bottom lip and jawline, but now he was working all the way down to his boyfriend’s neck, licking the damp skin and making Brian growl for the first time that night. The sound of frustration - perhaps sexual frustration that he was been trying to oppress for way too long -  encouraged Roger to move lower, his lips moving to Brian’s collar bones and even lower down his chest. He snuck up a hand by now to help himself locate Brian’s nipples; as soon as he found them, Roger closed his lips around the left one, and used his finger to tease Brian’s right nipple into hardness. Brian continued to emit a series of growls, but they were softer now than before; it was closer to a continuous murmur of Roger’s name and low sounds that could either be taken as encouragements for Roger to take it slowly, or instead to move on already. His cock, which had developed into a state of semi-erectness somewhere along the way, certainly hoped for the latter option.

Soon enough, Brian felt Roger’s fingers and tongue leaving his chest area to go yet lower, his fingers guiding the way down his waist so his lips could follow. Brian felt himself lying back and trying to relax into Roger’s touch as much as he could; it felt amazing, the feeling of Roger’s soft lips on his naked skin, and he allowed himself to tangle his hands through Roger’s hair and stroke it as a sign of appreciation of Roger’s current actions. However, he knew he had to be vigilant; regardless of what level Roger (and he himself too, in all honestly) wanted to take this to, Brian had promised himself for the sake of his moral conscience not to go too far tonight. This was supposed to be a warm-up, meant to get the two of them used to touching each other in not just a romantic but also in a sexual way again. Given that Roger was all too excited about this encounter, Brian knew he was the one to guard these boundaries.

It turned out his suspicions - _fears_ , more like - had been totally reasonable. Just when Brian was starting to subject himself to the touch of Roger’s hair at his fingertips and his lips on his lower body,  he felt Roger’s fingers travelling through his pubic hair, followed closely by his lips travelling in the same direction. Just before Roger would be given the opportunity to move south even further, Brian propped himself up on his elbows as to pull away from him as much as possible. It wasn’t much, given that he immediately bumped up against the headboard of their bed, but it was enough to make Roger’s hands and lips momentarily disappear from his body.

‘Roger, I think that’s a- a bit too much,’ Brian said to the boy who looked up in his direction with a somewhat dazed expression, not having seen Brian’s sudden movements coming. He looked somewhat helpless for a moment, unsure what to do with Brian’s reaction to his plans. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but he closed it soon after, and instead brought it down to the place where it had used to be.

‘I don’t think it is,’ Roger whispered at last, the air of coyness in his voice trying but failing to cover up the lust while he forever moved lower and came dangerously close to Brian’s private parts. ‘I think it’s _just_ what you need.’

Honestly, Brian had had the best of intentions all along. Even now, he _still_ intended to stick to his morals and cut Roger off right there; to just pull him into his arms, give him a simple but loving kiss on the cheek, and call it a night. He truly wished he could, but the majority of his willpower (and even physical power itself) vanished into thin air the moment Roger placed two tender hands on his naked thighs and licked a long, wet trail along his by now definitely hardening cock, all the way from tip to root. Brian gasped and his clouded mind spun to come up with a reply when Roger repeated the action - not to say, repeated the action twice.

‘Roger, don’t… we shouldn’t be do-doing this,’ Brian whispered, but he could hear how weak and non-authoritative his voice sounded even to his own ears. Roger had never been one for listening if not absolutely necessary, and Brian was sure that his voice, which was closer to a moan by now, was the last thing that was going to make Roger put a halt to his actions. On top of that, he was afraid his body language wasn’t helping him out either; he knew Roger couldn’t see him canting his head back against the headboard of the bed, but he was positive he could feel him slightly spreading his legs - not to even mention that he could feel the swelling of his cock, of which the tip had been enveloped by Roger’s pink pale lips and welcomed into the moist heat that was his mouth. The feeling of Roger’s tongue and lips around him was so good, so heavenly, and he realised now just how much he had missed it. His conscience played up again, so Brian gave stopping Roger one more weak shot, even though he knew - and perhaps even hoped - that it was going to be just as fruitless an attempt as the previous ones had been.

‘Roger, you don’t… don’t have to…’  Brian attempted one more time, but he had known all along that it was going to be no use. Without a word of warning but instead with a series of soft gagging noises, Roger took Brian into his mouth, swallowing him whole before Brian could say anything more.

Eyes snapped open, breath stocked in his throat, and slender fingers gripped into the bed sheets below when Roger let Brian slip into his mouth. And Lord, the moment Brian felt Roger’s tight mouth enclosing his cock, his lips pursing around the base of it, Brian realised that Roger did, in fact, have to do this. This was exactly what he had been needing, it apparently also was exactly what Roger had been needing, and Brian dimly wondered how he had managed to put this off for so long. This thought only raced through his mind for a split second, though - because soon enough the feeling of Roger swallowing around his painfully hard made him unable to focus on anything else than whatever actions his partner was performing in his nether regions.

‘Roger!’ Brian gritted out, finding himself having a hard time staying still on the bed. It felt like heaven, and even Brian he had promised himself not to push Roger into doing anything, he couldn’t help himself; his hands found their way to Roger’s wary, damp tresses and entangled themselves into them all on their own account. His shaky fingers clung onto the locks of hair, which at the moment was the only thing Brian could hold onto while Roger mercilessly went down on him as if he had been waiting to do so for ages - which probably wasn’t far from the truth. He was as experienced as Brian remembered him to be; if he had not known better, he would have thought that Roger had never skipped a day of giving head, had always continued doing this, improving, getting better at it with every suck, every bop of his head, and every swirl of his tongue.

‘Fuck, Roger,’ Brian cursed under his breath as he unwillingly gave a pull at his lover’s hair. The feeling of Roger’s warm throat around his by now pulsing cock, the feeling of his partner’s fingers drawing circles on the inside of his thighs, the obscene sucking noises Roger was emitting - it was all adding up to Brian’s eventual breakdown. Everything was becoming too much, and Roger seemed to notice this just as well as Brian. He had always been able to read Brian like an open book during the act of giving head, and the fact that he had fallen blind, did not seem to have affected this ability of knowing when to cut him off in any aspect. The moment he noticed Brian was starting to get dangerously close to the sweet release he longed for, Roger was quick to take a step back, letting Brian pop wetly out of his mouth and withdrawing his hands from his body.

Brian could do nothing but let out a displeased grunt the moment he felt the moist heat of Roger’s mouth disappearing from the place where he needed it most at the moment. ‘Roger…’ he sighed in a voice that effectively brought across both his disappointment and his frustration, both of which did not particularly seem to bother Roger, who simply smiled at him while he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight of it was enough to make Brian grunt.

‘You said I didn’t _have_ to do it, right?’ Roger said coyly, knowing exactly what to do both to turn Brian on and make him lose his mind. In addition to his bittersweet voice, he dragged a slow finger along the line of Brian’s cock, which he pulled away the second Brian pushed up against the touch.

‘Tease,’ Brian gasped, which again did not seem to bother Roger - in fact, if anything, he seemed to enjoy Brian acknowledging he was driving him out of his mind. He got up from the spot where he had been sitting back on his heels, placed his hands next to either side of Brian’s waist, before leaning in to place his body on top of Brian’s. Just the feeling of Roger’s bulge rubbing against his own was made Brian throw his head back in the pillows - not just out of pure frustration, but also in an attempt to keep himself from falling to pieces right there right then. His body longed for relief so much, but no matter how much both Roger and his own desires pushed him, his conscience refused to give in to whatever Roger’s plans with him were.

‘You know what you have to do to get it, Bri,’ Roger said, voice still raspy from sucking cock, and he leant over to plant his lips on Brian’s chin and cheek first before he finally managed to locate his lips.

While Roger seemed calm as he could be about the statement he had just made, Brian felt his breath stocking in his throat for a moment. Of course he knew exactly what he had to do to get relief that Roger was damn clear hinting at. And God, deep inside he wanted to give in to both Roger’s and his own desires. He wanted this more than anything, he knew it was just about time to let Roger have his way, and yet he could not give him permission to move on. His conscience wouldn’t allow him. One look at that fragile, pale body, trembling lips, and empty, greyish eyes of the boy before him - above him, rather - was all Brian needed to turn all of his lust into carefulness.

‘Roger…’ was all Brian managed at first, but he was cut off by Roger, who obviously sensed that this answer of his partner was not working out the way he wanted for it to do.

‘Yes, Bri. You know I want it. I know you want it,’ Roger whispered sensually while trying to press his lips against Brian’s again, but the guitarist, although he allowed his partner to kiss him, then continued to carefully work Roger off his body and put him down next to him on the mattress.

‘It’s… too early, Roger,’ Brian said when a pair of disappointed eyes looked at him as if they were looking for an explanation. ‘We can’t just jump back into having sex from one day to the other,’ he added, but it seemed like he had already lost the attention of his partner, whose hand had wandered off to stroke his inner thigh somewhere mid-sentence. It gave Brian a hard time focussing now that Roger’s fingers were dancing along the inside of his thighs, slowly stroking him and teasing him and eternally trying to make him give in.

‘I know you want this, Brian,’ Roger whispered in his ear, reminding Brian of the bad angel sitting on a protagonist’s shoulder in comic stories to try and make them choose the bad side. ‘And you know there is nothing…’ the finger moved towards Brian’s cock again, ‘I want more right now…’ trailed down his length just as agonisingly slowly as the voice in which Roger spoke, ‘than this.’

Brian let out a breathy sigh and tried to focus for a moment to come up with a reply. ‘We shouldn’t hurry this, Roger. I don’t want you to regret anything later,’ he reasoned, but Roger just smiled as if he had just said something impossibly stupid.

‘Do you think I could possibly regret this?’ Roger asked him, giving the tip of Brian’s dick, which by now was dripping in anticipation, a bit of a squeeze. I’ve been waiting for this for so long.’

Brian swallowed heavily and remained silent for a few seconds. He knew Roger had been waiting for this since forever, and so had he, but he really did not want to rush into any-

‘Please, Brian?’ Roger interrupted his thoughts mid-sentence in that sweet, begging voice he always used when he wanted something. The voice no one could resist, the one no one could say no to, and Brian had a feeling he was soon going to fall victim to it, too.

‘Roger…’ Brian warned him, but he knew this one word-phrase was not going to stop his partner.

‘ _Please_ ,’ Roger repeated in that same voice, making Brian wish he could put his hands over his ear just to cut off that adorably soft voice of his partner. _Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it_ , Brian repeatedly told himself, but he knew it was all a stay of execution. Before too long, Roger’s soft voice and tender hands, which manipulated Brian’s good intentions perfectly, like they always did, made him give in to both Roger’s and his own desires.

‘Please, Bri? You know you want this. You know you deserve it,’ Roger whispered. The hand on Brian’s inner thigh was back, stroking and caressing him, and Brian could no longer resist.

‘Alright then,’ Brian whispered quietly, inwardly cursing himself for doing so. ‘I’ll get the lube, and we’ll see where we end up,’ he added while closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he saw that Roger had propped himself up on his hands and was now sitting on his knees next to him on the mattress, the most hopeful expression Brian had seen in months on his face.

‘So you’re doing it?’ Roger whispered with a voice that betrayed his excitement, and it took Brian all of his willpower to restrict his own promise, the one he already knew he never should have made.

‘I didn’t say yes yet. I’m just going to get some lube, and we’ll see where that gets us,’ Brian said, even though he knew that bringing out the lube could only head the current situation into one direction, which was the direction Roger was wishing for. In an attempt to not let Roger believe he was going to get a free pass to do whatever he liked, Brian added sternly: ‘And even if we _do_ get to that point, we’re gonna do it _slowly_ and _carefully_ ,’ with the emphasise on the adverbs. ‘No rough sex or BDSM or whatever it is you have in mind,’ he clarified.

‘Really, nothing? Not even blindfolding?’ Roger said with a snicker, obviously refer to the fact that he couldn’t see a thing with or without said object restricting his eyesight.

Brian, however, decided that going along with Roger’s joking would only encourage more licentiousness from his partner. ‘Not even blindfolding. I’m serious, Roger, we’re gonna take this slowly,’ he said, soon realising that, by saying this, he was already indirectly admitting to the things he had promised himself not to do.

‘But I don’t-’ Roger started to protest, but Brian reached forwards to put a stern but teasing and perhaps even sensual finger against Roger’s moist lips before he could finish his complaint.

‘My way or no way, Roger,’ Brian interrupted him sternly, giving him a serious look that he knew Roger couldn’t see but which helped himself feel like he was in charge. _As if I ever really am in charge when this boy and his damned puppy eyes look at me the way they are doing right now,_ Brian thought to himself, but he pushed the thought away before it would weaken his resistance to Roger even more. Luckily for Brian, though, Roger ended up giving in before he did.

‘Alright then. Have it your way,’ Roger said, and Brian had to oppress a sigh of relief as well as a snicker of irony - because looking at it strictly objectively, Roger was already having it his way. If the two of them had _really_ stuck to Brian’s intentions, they never would have gotten to the point where they had ended up looking for the lube for a purpose Brian did not yet want to admit to, even though it was starting to become more and more unavoidable.

‘Very good,’ Brian said as he ran his hand through Roger’s damp tresses, before he crawled over to his side of the bed, opened the nightstand, and fished a long forgotten bottle of out of the lower drawer. He was embarrassed to see that a fine layer of dust had gathered on the cap of the bottle, so he soundlessly blew it off before he opened it and squirted a reasonable amount of the transparent substance on his fingers. ‘Get on your front, baby, and let me take care of the rest,’ he said in a voice that expressed both authority and gentleness while he rubbed the lube across his fingertips.

Every now and then Brian was surprised by how obedient Roger could be if he wanted to. Before Brian had even managed to crawl back to the spot on the mattress he previously had been sitting, Roger had already grabbed a pillow, rolled over to his belly, and located himself in the middle of the bed with his head on said pillow and his arms wrapped around it.

‘Look at that, suddenly obedient and all…’ Brian purred at his boyfriend while he slowly let his fingers make their way down Roger’s spine, feeling his partner shiver in anticipation beneath the touch of his hand while it travelled all the way down to the curve of Roger’s buttocks. ‘Are you ready?’ he whispered at Roger - he already knew the answer, but he had told himself he would.

‘Never been more ready,’ Roger encouraged him, which was the last sign of confirmation Brian needed. Without giving himself any more time to think about - and scold himself for - the promise he had made to his partner, he steadied his partner against the mattress with one hand on the low of his back. After having prepared Roger’s entrance with a generous amount of lube, he slowly, agonisingly slowly, worked a slender finger inside of him.

As he pressed one of his fingers past the tight ring of muscles, Brian noticed how Roger tightened his grip on the pillow and how his body seemed to sense up for a moment. It came as no surprise to Brian; after all, they hadn’t engaged in any of this for months in a row, so it was only natural for Roger to be out of shape, as to say so. However, the drummer was quick to recover from the initial pain Brian knew penetration brought along, and by the time he asked him if he was still holding on, it turned out that Roger was already waiting for Brian to step up his game.

‘Are you okay?’ Brian whispered into the silence of his room, rubbing comforting circular patterns along the small of Roger’s back for comfort Roger turned out not to be in need of at all.

‘No, I need more,’ Roger groaned. For a moment, Brian wondered if this really was a good idea, but when he heard the wanton noises the drummer emitted and when he felt how slick Roger already was, he decided that he could probably handle a second digit. Carefully, he added another finger that had Roger groaning at first but which soon made him sigh in pleasure and longing for more. His satisfaction didn’t last too long, however; Brian was positive not even twenty seconds could have passed when Roger already demanded more from Brian for a second time.

‘More, Brian,’ Roger groaned into the pillow he had buried his face into. It was probably meant to be an order, but it sounded so desperate and pleading that Brian could hardly take it as one. More than that, he decided that making sure Roger had properly gotten used to two fingers was what he should take care of before he could add a third, so he ignored Roger’s order and simply continued pushing in and out his two fingers in an attempt to satisfy Roger, even though he knew it wouldn’t. Once Roger had set his mind on something he wanted, he’d get it one way or another, and the current situation showed a perfectly clear example of this.

‘Brian…’ Roger called his name as to remind the guitarist of what he was supposed to do. When Brian, however, did not listen to him for a second time, he started pushing his body up against whose touch in an attempt to get more friction between the two of them, as some kind of compromise now that Brian wouldn’t let him have more of his fingers. Unfortunately for him, Brian was quick to put his actions to a hold altogether to let him know he did not appreciate this kind of conduct.

‘No no no, none of that,’ Brian said, softly yet insistently steadied Roger against the mattress again with his free hand. ‘My way or no way, remember?’ he reminded Roger, who gave a bit of a pitiful whine but who did end up nodding in agreement - probably because he knew that if he didn’t, he was going to get nothing at all.

As soon as Roger had laid himself down again and showed no further signs of attempting to take over the lead in any way, Brian continued to go about his business. He twisted, curled, and bent his fingers in all possible positions to elicit surprised gasps and muffled moans from the boy underneath him, and eventually, when he decided Roger was ready for it, he added the third finger his boyfriend had requested a while ago. With a self-satisfied grin on his face, he listened to the moans and sighs of the boy underneath him, and his previous promise to himself to never let this evening come to the point they were currently finding themselves, seemed a million miles away. For a moment, he felt guilty for having allowed Roger to carry him away, and he wondered if it was about time he should cut it off. But when he heard the sharp cry of pleasure emerging from Roger the moment his fingers brushed his sweet spot, he knew that he had to finish what he had started.

And honestly, he would have. Brian was positive he would have continued pressing his fingers inside of Roger, bending them, curling them, doing everything in order to pleasure him until he would be begging for the release Brian would bring upon him with nothing more than just his fingers inside of him - if it hadn’t been for Roger suddenly calling out to him mid-action to stop what he was doing.

‘Stop!’ Roger suddenly panted, making Brian halt his movements all of a sudden. ‘Stop, Brian, please… stop,’ Roger repeated helplessly, and Brian, feeling dizzy by his boyfriend’s sudden pleads to put an end to the scene, carefully released his fingers and hastily began stroking Roger’s back as to comfort him from whatever it was that was hurting him.

‘Roger? Darling, are you okay? Was I too rough?’ Brian whispered in a choking voice, afraid that somewhere in his enthusiasm, he involuntarily must have hurt Roger somehow. He knew he could never forgive himself if he had, and he was already inwardly cursing himself for having known better than to jump straight at sex when Roger told him that the opposite of his assumptions was true.

Brian sighed in relief when Roger, who had turned his body around on the mattress to face his direction, feverishly shook his head. Brian was more than glad to hear he hadn’t hurt him, but when he heard why Roger had made him stop using his fingers on him, he felt himself starting to pale right there at the spot.

‘You didn’t… hurt me,’ Roger said as he sucked in a gulp of air that he desperately seemed to be in need of. ‘I just don’t… don’t want to come this way,’ he disclosed, making Brian sit back on his heels and take a second to let his mind process the meaning of the words Roger had just spoken to him, even though he knew damn well what Roger wanted from him. From the pleading look in his eyes, the sweat-slicked chest that was heaving up and down, and most of all, his cock, which Brian could judge by just looking at it, was rock hard and in desperate need of some attention. The only problem right now what that the kind of attention Brian wanted to give it, was not the way Roger had been waiting for; and the way Roger wanted to have it, was not something Brian felt like he could give into with a clear conscience.

‘Brian?’ Roger whispered when his boyfriend stayed silent for a second too long, and Brian let out a shaky sight as he shook off the thoughts that were haunting him.

‘Still here, baby,’ Brian found himself saying out of habit, before he realised that Roger was addressing him not because he wondered if he was still in the same room with him, but because he wondered when he was going to do something about the helplessly exposed way he was lying in the middle of the bed. He knew it was time for him to act, and he knew what Roger expected from him, but he just could not and would not convince himself to move in that direction. Instead he reached out a hand in Roger’s direction, hoping he could satisfy him that was even though he knew Roger was never going to agree with it.

‘Do you want me to…’ Brian cut off his proposal mid-sentence to show him what he wanted to do instead, but as soon as his fingertips touched the tip of Roger’s pulsing cock, the drummer reached out to catch his fingers between his own, deeming Brian’s attempt of not having to go all the way to have been in vain.

‘Not like that,’ he whispered. ‘You know I… I don’t want it like that,’ he said mildly accusingly, and Brian was glad Roger couldn’t see the blush on his face. Of _course_ he knew this was not what Roger wanted, and in all honesty, he didn’t think of it as a perfect way to bring his lover the satisfaction he longed for (and which he simply could not deny him anymore at this point). The longer he found himself sitting next to his naked boyfriend, the both of them with tousled hair, bodies covered in sweat, and both their cocks painfully hard and in need of release, the more he wanted to give in to the proposal Roger had implicitly been offering him throughout the evening. He wished he could pin him down on the mattress, press his cock inside of him, and heedlessly pound into them until he would collapse on top of Roger, the both of them completely spent and sweaty and, more than that, satisfied. But, knowing he couldn’t, Brian pushed this image out of his head as much as possible.

‘I can blow you, if you want to…’ he said, but he did not even need to see the shake of Roger’s head to see that he declined this offer as well. Frustrated both with his own promises and Roger’s inability to accept any of his alternatives, Brian sat up straight and coughed to announce that he had something serious to say. ‘Listen, Roger. I know what you want to do, but to do what’s right,’ Brian told him. ‘I’m sorry that I allowed myself to be carried away. I should have made it more clearly that I didn’t mean to end up here tonight.’

‘You didn’t mean to, yet… here we are,’ Roger told him in a surprisingly clear voice. ‘And I’m _ready_ for it, Brian, and I know that you are too,’ Roger stated matter-of-factly; after all, he knew that he was completely in the right about Brian’s willingness.

‘Roger…’ Brian said, knowing there was no use in denying; Roger could not see how his fingers trembled and how his cock was dripping in anticipation, but he could feel in the atmosphere how Brian was just as ready to move forward as he was.

‘Please, Bri. I know you want this. I know you _long_ for this.’ The soft, begging voice was back, the same one that had helped Roger convince Brian to prepare him earlier that night. Prepare him for an action that Brian started to understand was becoming more inevitable with every passing second.

Brian, knowing there was no way denying his own desires, admitted softly: ‘I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.’

‘You won’t,’ Roger said with such confidence that it was hard for Brian not to trust him. ‘You’ve never hurt me, and this won’t be the first time either. _Please_ , just do it,’ Roger begged, pushing his hips up in a wanton gesture that made Brian’s cock give a stir. Brian felt as if the temperature in the bedroom just rose by five degrees in all but a minute, and it became harder for him to breathe.

‘What if it’s too early?’ he squeaked, which earned him a small, nearly comforting smile from his partner, as he propped himself up on his elbows on the mattress he was lying on. Roger’s hand reached towards again - this time not for his cock, or for any other, but for his chest.

‘It’s time, Brian. I feel that it’s time,’ Roger whispered, gently running his fingertips down Brian’s chest. ‘And more than that, I trust you. I would never let you do this if I did not trust you one hundred percent,’ he confided, and Brian closed his eyes for a moment while he let these words sink in. Roger, just like Freddie earlier that day, was completely right; this was about more than physical satisfaction, but about love, trust, and care. And if Roger was willing to open up for him for all of these reasons, how could Brian possibly turn him down any longer?

‘And I trust you to tell me exactly where your borders lie, and not to hesitate for a second when it’s becoming too much. And we’re doing this carefully and slowly and you won’t complain about that. Promise?’ Brian asked quietly, not able to oppress a smile when Roger lent into him, pressed his lips against his, and then went to put his head on his partner’s shoulder.

‘Promise,’ the drummer whispered, which earned him a kiss on his tousled locks of hair from Brian, before the guitarist broke away from him to fumble for the bottle of lube they had discarded  moment ago. Hearing the sound of the lid being taken off was all Roger needed to know what Brian was up to, and he was quick to join in on the activity.

‘Okay, I’m just going to-’ Brian started to explain, but he was soon interrupted.

‘I want to do it,’ Roger whispered eagerly as he reached out his hands into Brian’s general direction. Brian didn’t hesitate for a moment before handing the bottle over to Roger, who poured a more-than-sufficient amount of the transparent substance on his fingers and rubbed them together while he told Brian to sit back and relax.

For what must have been the first time that evening, Brian was quick to do as his boyfriend told him; he leant back against the footboard of the bed, allowing Roger to crawl closer to him, sitting between his splayed legs, and letting him Brian felt his boyfriend’s slippery fingers first bumping up against his jutting hip bone, but after a bit of feeling around that area, Roger soon closed his fingers around his stiff cock. Brian had to bite down his lip to stifle a groan; he wanted to give Roger all the time he needed, but at the same time, he had missed the feeling of Roger’s hands on him so much that it was practically unbearable to have to sit back and let his blind boyfriend figure out where his cock was located and how to properly lube him up. Nevertheless, he managed to stay as sound- and motionless as he could while Roger prepared him with more than just a few teasing movements of his clumsy yet experienced fingers, until he eventually drew back his hands when he deemed his work to be completed.

‘Done,’ he whispered, and Brian sat right up again to sit at eye level with Roger. The guitarist gave his partner one more kiss on the cheek, before he put his fingertips on both of Roger’s shoulders to gently press him down on the pillow beneath him. Once he was lying down again, Brian gave himself one moment to focus on how beautiful Roger looked beneath him, his sweaty hair, damp skin, and lust-clouded eyes that made him look like a debauched angel, one that Brian was determined to finally give the relief he longed for and deserved.

‘Do you need more preparation?’ he asked him while touching Roger’s inner thighs, which Roger spread for him the moment he felt Brian placing his fingers on them.

‘No, I’m ready,’ he said resolutely, and one look at his eyes below a slight frown of impatience and need was all Brian needed to know that Roger was right. He positioned himself on top of Roger, who rapidly hooked his legs around Brian’s waist to grant him the access he needed. Brian supported himself on one elbow and used his other hand to guide his cock, which pulsed between the touch if his fingers, up to Roger’s entrance, where he stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. He knew that this was the point of no return for them, and he prayed to God or any kind of justice under the sky that everything would turn out well, that neither of them would regret this event later on, and most of all, that he would not break the trust Roger had put in him.

‘Please, Brian. Go for it…’ Roger pleaded, eyes closed and head thrown back into the pillow. Brian obeyed and lined the tip of his cock up against Roger’s entrance, feeling him tighten shortly before he started pressing back against him as to convince him to move on already.

‘I’ll be very gentle,’ Brian whispered against Roger’s ear, more to comfort himself than his lover, who did not seem to care about this aspect at all; all he wanted right now was for Brian to go ahead and press himself inside of him and fuck him mercilessly, as the down-pressing motions of his body suggested. Brian, deciding that he could no longer hold back, buried one hand in Roger’s tresses, closed his eyes, and pushed himself into his partner in slow but steady movements. He paused every time Roger groaned or when his facial expression tensed up, and continued the moment Roger’s moans indicated pleasure instead of pain, or when the boy straight up told him to move on. He delicately wiped away the pearls of sweat he saw appearing on Roger’s temple during the process of working himself inside of him, offering the drummer soothing words and an arm to cling on to while he completed the business, revelling at just how good it felt in the meantime.

And Lord, the moment he was fully inside, Brian started wondering how he ever could have gone without this feeling for so long. Roger was tight and warm and silky-soft as he remembered him to be, and all Brian wanted to do was thrust into him as mercilessly as he could until the both of them would end up screaming in delight. Of course he wasn’t actually going to tackle the situation this way; he felt guilty enough about having given in to Roger’s plan of having sex already, and he knew he would only feel even more so if he did not do everything that was within his power to treat him as gently as possible. He had to be careful with him, even more careful than he had ever been before…

‘Move,’ Roger panted, awaking Brian from the thoughts that had been absorbing him for a moment. ‘Please, Brian, move…’ he insisted weakly, making Brian realise that he had to keep his head in the game and not drift off to things that wouldn’t be - not at this point in time, anyway. It was time to focus on Roger and whose needs as he was lying here below him, eyes fluttering and breath ragged and totally submissive to whatever Brian had in mind with him.

‘Relax, baby,’ Brian whispered to his partner, who helplessly tried to impale himself onto his member even further than he already was. ‘Just lie back and let me do the rest.’ With these words, Brian placed his hands next to either side of Roger’s head, wanting to be able to stare into whose eyes while he pulled back before - be it slowly - forcing himself back inside of Roger again. He waited for a few seconds to see how Roger reacted to the thrust, to see if he was taking it well or if he had to adapt to his partner. He found that Roger remained remarkably calm; his eyes fluttered shut and he gave a bit of a grunt, but he did not seem uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, Roger made a low, humming noise that seemed to be meant to encourage Brian to go on, pick up the pace, and send both of them into bliss the way he had always been capable of.

Brian, encouraged by the sounds Roger was emitting, repeated the action of pulling out- and pressing in. When this again was received with gratitude by his partner, Brian gained a bit more confidence in his capability of pleasing Roger without hurting him. This, however, did not mean he was going to speed up his game; he wanted Roger’s first time after the accident to be slow, careful, and filled with love and patience, letting his partner know he was willing to spend all the time in the world on him.

Even though Brian - despite softly-uttered complaints from Roger - kept his pace down, it didn’t take too long for him to find his partner’s sweet spot. After another handful of slow, thrusting movements, which already had Roger panting and shaking with the strain, Brian heard him crying out him name sharply as he canted his head back into the pillows as much as his surroundings allowed him, legs tightening around Brian’s waist and eyes screwing shut.

‘Brian!’ Roger emitted helplessly, mouth hanging slack from the pure pleasure of the unexpected jolt of pleasure that rushed through his body.

‘How do you like that?’ Brian purred at him, running a hand through messy, soaked tresses. Roger looked like he wanted to reply for a moment, but simply was too weak to do so, and instead settled with an unspecific pitiful whimper. ‘Do you want me to do that again?’ Brian asked rhetorically, a question that of course was greeted with enthusiastic, be it somewhat desperate nodding from Roger as the latter put down his lower lip. ‘Do you really now?’ Brian couldn’t help teasing him, this time receiving a more frustrated hum and, at last, a spoken answer.

‘Yesss, Brian, please! Do it, oh my God, do it-’ Roger hissed through clenched teeth, his entire body weakening and his voice dying out when Brian repeated the action with the same effect as the previous time had had on him - if not more. Brian did not need to hear any more confirmation from him to know that he was desperate, and continued moving in and out of his partner until he had effectively reduced Roger to a helpless mess beneath him, completely at his fingertips, whether Roger liked to admit so or not.  

Brian felt himself being mesmerised by this exact image of his partner lying beneath him and expressing completely different forms of reacting to the ongoing pounding motions of him moving in and out of him and, judging by his reactions, never failing to prod his prostate in the process of it. Roger alternated between begging, yelping, and writhing beneath him, or completely falling silent, with his eyes wide open, jaw hanging slack, and his limbs loosely clinging around Brian’s body, completely letting Brian decide the fate of his body and soul. Brian soon found that he liked the latter version best; perhaps because it allowed him to really drink in the sight of Roger’s sweaty body, flushed face, and soaked tresses now that the drummer did not frantically tossed his head from side to side or distracted him by digging his nails into Brian’s back. Perhaps because this second image fit Brian’s preference of taking this slowly and carefully better, eternally afraid Roger would end up getting hurt if either of them did not pay constant attention to his safety. Or perhaps it was because he had gotten used to this ‘softer’ image of Roger, the one where Roger was dependent on him, where he clung to him and trusted Brian to take care of him - so when Roger, after an episode of simply having laid back, uttering quiet sounds and letting Brian decide the pace, decided to jump into action himself again and become more vocal about what he wanted out of this, Brian found himself putting his partner back into what he believed was his place.

‘Brian! Brian…’ Roger mewled, helplessly trying to tighten his legs around Brian’s waist and pushing his weakened body up as to draw Brian in deeper, but Brian would not let him.

‘Shhh…’ Brian shushed him in an attempt to silence him, releasing one of the hands he was supporting himself on to place it across Roger’s lips. His boyfriend seemed surprised at first at the unexpected moment - which Brian had foreseen - but his obedience did not last for longer than a few seconds. The moment Brian placed his hand back on the mattress, slipped nearly completely out, and then pressed himself back inside of Roger, he heard him emit a squeal of delight as his fingers sought refuge in the sheets beneath the pair of them. Brian saw how Roger desperately clawed at the white linen as to give himself something to cling to in this moment of both emotional and physical intensity, but he was quick to stall his movements. He only felt mildly guilty when he made use of Roger’s visual impairment as he grasped the opportunity to pick up both of his hands and dragging them above his head, where he pinned them down with his lower arm.

‘Brian!’ Roger whimpered this time, helplessly trying to release his hands but the both of them already knowing he would not succeed.

‘No clawing, you’ll hurt yourself,’ Brian told him calmly while he continued to pin both of Roger’s wrists down above his head with the use of only one of his arms; Roger was way too weak and had too little control over his muscles to give him any reasonable form of protest at this point anyway at this point. All he could do was mewl and wriggle in disagreement, but Brian quickly put a stop to this.

‘Calm. Calm and slowly, that’s what we agreed on,’ Brian reminded him quietly.

‘Do you think I- I can stay calm and slow right now?’ Roger asked him in a voice Brian knew would have been scornful another time another place, where his cock would not have been up Roger’s ass and when he consequently would not have been as breakable, both in his voice and in his overall appearance, as he was right now. For this reason, it was all too easy for Brian to demand obedience from Roger, whether the drummer liked it or not.

‘Of course you can. I’ll _make_ you,’ Brian whispered sensually against the shell of Roger’s ear. Before his partner would be given any time to come up with a reply to counter Brian’s words, the guitarist made sure to silence him by pressing his lips against Roger’s while he pushed into him again. Brian felt Roger’s legs tightening around his waist and his hands struggling to break free from his grip, but a quick repetition of the movement made Roger unable than doing more than utter quiet sounds of approval as his entire body melted into Brian’s touch. It took no more than half a minute for Brian to reduce Roger to helpless moans, shouts of his names, and eventually, when the end was so closely upon him that Brian could feel his boyfriend’s cock throbbing against the inside of his thigh, he eventually noted tears starting to form in his lover’s eyes - tears that made Brian halt his movements all at once the moment he saw them appearing.

‘Roger?’ Brian asked softly while he intently stared at the boy beneath him, who by now had closed his eyes and weakly shook his head. In response - or lack of response - to him. ‘Darling, are you alright?’ he asked, now seriously afraid he had hurt Roger, but his partner was quick to talk this idea right out of his head before it even got the chance of nestling in the first place.

‘I’m fine, Bri,’ Roger whispered, blinking the tears out of his eyes and looking in Brian’s direction again. ‘I just… needed this so much. Knowing that… nothing’s changed between us,’ he whispered softly with a trembling smile at the corners of his lips that made Brian’s heart sink in. He had reminded himself all along that tonight’s events were not simply about lust and want but about love, trust, and belonging, and Roger announcing that this physical closeness was what he had needed all along to know that everything was alright between them, that Brian’s love for him had not vanished or changed in any way but positive, Brian was more than happy to bring this night to the spectacular ending Roger had been deserving all along.

‘Of course nothing’s changed between us. I still love you, I love you more than I’ve ever done before,’ Brian told him, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on Roger’s trembling lips that formed a huge contrast to the situation as they were finding themselves in at that specific instance.

‘I love you too,’ Roger breathed the moment Brian released his lips from his, probably sensing the boy - whose chest was falling and rising at a somewhat irregular pace - needed all the air he could get right now. ‘I wanna… let me… let me _hold_ you,’ Roger managed incoherently, giving a short tug at the lower arm that continued to constrict his hands to the spot above his head.

Brian, suddenly noticing he was still pressing Roger’s wrists back against the mattress, was quick to pull it away and allow Roger some freedom of movement. In the middle of love, tears, and lube, he had completely forgotten about the fact that he had still been capturing Roger’s hands, and he felt a bit of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

‘Sorry, darling,’ he said while Roger snaked his hands around his shoulder blades. ‘Allow me to make up for that,’ he whispered at his partner, who seemed to know exactly what he was up to now that he had a hand to use for other purposes than restricting him.

‘Touch me, Brian, please-’ Roger begged before Brian had even been given the time to bring his hand down to the desired direction. When he did reach down and grasped Roger’s erection, he could hear the boy hiss when the cool skin of his fingers came in touch with his cock, which Brian could feel throbbing when he closed his fingers around it. Roger was painfully hard, dribbling with need, and Brian could tell by experience that he wasn’t going to last long - certainly not after having waited for his release for so long, partly in terms of this specific night but specifically in terms of the time that had passed since they had last engaged in having sex. Now that Brian found himself lying on top of Roger, still buried deeply inside of it while holding his partner’s length in the palm of his hand, he could not believe that it really had been six months since he had last encountered a situation similar to this - and especially not that he was the cause of this abstinence. He knew there was nothing he could do about all the times he had denied Roger now, apart from trying to make it up to him by making tonight worth all the waiting.

With this thought in mind and Roger murmuring encouraging sounds and pleads at him, Brian got ready for what he expected to be the last round of physical work. He levelled himself up on the arm he supported himself on before pushing himself into Roger again, a movement that pulled a blissful sigh from his counterpart, especially when he paired this with simultaneously jerking his painfully hard cock off with his long, slender fingers. The action was repeated, repeated again, and when tears appeared in the corners of Roger’s eyes again, Brian this time knew it was for good reasons only.

Brian listened as helpless whimpers fall of Roger’s panting lips, let him scratch at the skin of his back, lets him try to draw him in deeper in his frantic attempts to get more friction between the pair of them - he knows it’s what Roger needs right now, and more than that, he needed it himself, too. He felt himself growing harder with every movement inside of Roger, felt the pressure starting to build up deep down in his belly, and realised he wouldn’t last very long either. Still, no matter how close he was, Brian was determined to make Roger come first; he was the one who had waited for this longest, who had given rise to this event, and who deserved to get the pleasure out of it first.

‘Brian, please,’ Roger sobbed, his legs helplessly clinging around the small of Brian’s back and throwing his head back in the pillows beneath him when Brian jacked him off with alternating slow and faster paced movements of his hands. Another prod against his prostate sent Roger into a series of helpless mewls, and Brian decided that it was time to release his partner from the tension.

Wrapping his fingers tightly around the tip of his cock, Brian pressed himself inside of Roger in an angle he knew would make Roger squeal in delight. ‘Come for me, baby. Come… for me…’ Brian whispered tantalisingly slowly in his ear, which was the last thing Roger needed to be pushed over the brink; Brian watched as Roger’s eyes drew close, his arms around his neck, and his entire body convulsed when he coated the hand Brian still had wrapped around his cock with his cum.

The sight of his boyfriend being pushed over the brink, including the slight frown between his brows, the way he bit down his bottom lip and groaned softly as relief washed over him, was enough for Brian to give in to physical pleasure as well, feeling his entire body going limb the moment he felt the bliss starting to take hold of him. Unlike Roger, who seemed to have given all he had in one go, Brain felt his orgasm coming to him in waves that did not stop assaulting him until he found himself limblessly sprawled over his lover, completely empty and spent and ready to fall right asleep if it would not have been for the fact that Roger was lying underneath him and in need of love, care, and attention.

Without losing touch with him, Brian flipped them over so Roger was on top of him - or lying next to him was perhaps a better description - which allowed him to properly throw his arms around his partner’s waist. Roger still had his arms around the back of his neck, and buried his face in the crook between Brian’s neck and shoulder. Brian could feel the remainder of his tears dripping onto his shoulder, and he pressed Roger a bit tighter against his body. He considered speaking up for a moment, but Roger’s entire body language told him that he needed a moment of quiet first. Therefore, Brian threw the blankets a bit tighter around the pair of them, and allowed his partner a moment to recover from all the emotions he had gone through that night.

‘Thank you, Bri,’ Roger eventually broke the silence in the bedroom, face still buried against Brian’s shoulder, which pulled a bit of a smile from the guitarist as he kissed Roger’s forehead. ‘I never thought you would agree to all of this in just the matter of one night.’

‘Me neither,’ Brian admitted, allowing himself to release one of his hands from Roger’s torso to wipe the sweat of his forehead. ‘You keep surprising me by the things you can talk me into doing.’

‘You keep surprising me by the things I can talk you into,’ Roger snickered, receiving a tap against his nose from Brian before the guitarist nestled himself closer against him, pressing a kiss against the spot where he had previously given him a minor admonitory flick.

‘You just know what to do to get your way,’ Brian told him, but he could not do more than make it sound mildly accusatorily. After all, at the end of the day, it was not Roger’s fault that he had the sweetest voice and cutest puppy eyes; it was his own fault for being unable to resist his partner when he used these forces against him.

‘So, rope play it is next time?’ Roger proposed lightly. Even though the smile tugging at the corners of his partner’s lips told Brian that he was only joking, he still felt the need to talk the idea right out of his head as quickly as he could.

‘Absolutely not,’ Brian told him in a stern voice he should have known would do nothing but work contraproductive on his boyfriend.

‘You said the same about having sex in general earlier this evening, and look where we ended up,’ Roger reminded him with a snicker, and Brian, understanding that this technique wasn’t going to work on Roger anyway at this point in time, decided to join him rather than oppose his inappropriate ideas - after all, all they had gone through that night could probably already be classified as inappropriate anyway.

‘Alright, if you want rope play, I’ll give you rope play. I’ll tie you to the bed so you won’t be able to touch me anymore,’ Brian proposed, slipping his fingers around Roger’s wrist as to give him a demonstration of what this would be like, before he remembered that he had just pulled Roger through similar treatment through most of their sex scene.

‘Mind you, it was _you_ who started touching _me_ tonight,’ Roger reminded him with a grin, obviously satisfied with his comeback.

‘But I never would have if it hadn’t been for you creeping up on me yesterday,’ Brian playfully threw back at him. Even though it was meant to be a joking remark, he could see by the way Roger’s grin vanished from his face with the speed of light that his partner did not see it as such.

‘Never…?’ Roger repeated softly, sounding more than a little hurt.

‘No, no, let me rephrase that,’ Brian quickly corrected himself. ‘I didn’t mean ‘never’ in that sense of the word. Just as in ‘not yet’ at this point, because I was seriously convinced that you couldn’t handle this sort of action yet,’ he explained himself. Then, in an attempt to cheer Roger up again, he added with a chuckle and a soft flick against Roger’s nose: ‘You proved me wrong tonight.’

Brian was glad to see that this had a positive effect on Roger; the smile returned to his face and Brian could swear he saw a bit of a blush creeping up Roger’s already reddened cheeks.

‘I would love to prove you wrong over and over again,’ Roger whispered, and Brian prayed his partner could not feel that his cock gave a bit of a stir when he heard these words, considering their bodies were positioned closely against each other. Brian knew that if he would let his body make the decision, he would flip his partner right over to let him prove him wrong for the remainder of the night; but, considering they had to be up at seven the morning after for studio work, his brain decided it was probably better to call it a night.

‘So would I,’ Brian said, foreshadowing what he was going to say when he pulled the duvets closer around their bodies and wrapped his arm a bit tighter around Roger’s bare torso. ‘Come on, let’s go to sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow, and you need to get all the sleep you can if you want to prove me wrong again tomorrow.’

This comment seemed to spark some surprise in Roger. ‘Tomorrow already?’

‘Or am I being too enthusiastic right now?’ Brian asked him, suddenly feeling stupid for simply assuming Roger was ready to dive into this all of a sudden. It ha been so long since they’d last engaged in any of this business, after all; maybe he was now diving into this headlong even more than Roger had been wishing for.

However, just when Brian started to rationalise Roger’s train of thoughts, his partner interrupted him to tell him what the real - and at the same time terribly obvious - reason behind his surprise was.

‘No, not at all. I just did not expect that so soon. After all, you’re the one who never wanted to do anything anymore after the accident,’ Roger told him, but was then quick to add: ‘But I perfectly willing to get it on again tomorrow,’ he said with a cheeky grin, which confirmed more to Brian’s overall idea and expectations of Roger’s behaviour.

‘That’s a deal, then. Perhaps we can even squeeze in some action tomorrow morning before we go to work,’ he whispered against his boyfriend’s ear, relieved to find that his cock was not the only one reacting to this sort of conversation, as to say so. Still, he was happy to find that Roger’s tiredness took over whatever desire was still left in his exhausted body, and Brian found himself Roger encouraging to go to sleep by allowing him to nestle his chest, pressing a kiss against the top of his head, and continuously stroking his back. Only when he was positive Roger was sleeping, Brian allowed himself to follow his example, and he dozed off with a warm feeling of love and satisfaction he only now realised he had missed all that time.


End file.
